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By the same Author. 


THE DEAD MARQUISE. 

i2mo, cloth, $i 50. 

“ This book is admirable, and its style almost perfect in its transparent 
simplicity .” — Boston Globe. 


G. P. PUTNAMS SONS, 


NEW YORK. 


.jT 



<r ip- «. 


UNDER THE BELLS 


A ROMANCE 


B Y 


LEONARD KIP 


AUTHOR OF “ ^NONE,” " THE DEAD MARQUISE,” ETC. 


i 



I 




’ NEW YORK 

. PUTNAM’S SONS 

182 FIFTH AVENUE 

1879 


G. P 



Copyright by G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1879. 


Press of 

G, P. Putnam's Sons, 
182 Fifth Avenue. 


I DEDICATE THIS VOLUME 


AFFECTIONATELY TO 

MY WIFE : 

FOR WHOSE GENEROUS APPROVAL IT WAS WRITTEN 
AND WITH WHOSE EARNEST AID PREPARED. 


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CHAPTER 


page 

I. 

Pere Rouflet 

. I 

II. 

The Sainte-Clotilde 

II 

III. 

In the Studio . 

• 25 

IV. 

Among the Bells . 

41 

V. 

By the King’s Command 

60 

VI. 

Toys de Martelle . 

77 

VII. 

Manon .... 

. 90 

VIII. 

A Face Grown False 

107 

IX. 

In Sad Farewell 

122 

X. 

So Foul, Yet Fair a World ! 

136 

XI. 

The Face Grown Falser 

• 153 

XII. 

In Self-condemnation 

168 

XIII. 

The Vellum Miniature 

. 180 

XIV. 

A Fate Fulfilled . 

204 

XV. 

Waiting For Dawn 

. 223 

XVI. 

Fast Fading Hopes 

239 

XVII. 

Upon the Roof . ’ . 

• 254 

XVIII. 

Distempered Fancies 

268 

XIX. 

Peace and Forgiveness 

.‘ 280 

XX. 

Conrad’s Sword 

299 


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UNDER THE BELLS. 

CHAPTER I. 

A LITTLE over three centuries ago, and during the 
rule of a certain king of France, — further than 
which it need not that we should definitely speak, seeing 
that this king is nothing in our story, and that his reign 
but little differs from other reigns before and after, in 
amount of war and carnage, base treason and torture, and 
almost universal misery, — during that rule, we say, there 
stood in the centre of an ancient city of Guienne, a gray 
stone church. 

To this, the cathedral-church of Sainte-Clotilde, one 
Pere Rouflet was attached as priest. For many years 
he had been treated with neglect, and been often openly 
made to suffer slights, and, not seldom, ridicule. For 
it happened that he was small in stature and weak of 
frame ; the partial distortion of his figure bearing so close- 
ly upon the line that separates deformity from ordinary 
grace of manhood, that for a while, — though be it said, he 
knew it not, — there had been serious question whether it 
was proper that he should be made a priest at all. Nor 


2 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


when at last admitted within the order, was he esteemed of 
especial worthiness ; inasmuch as his feebleness of voice 
rendered him unfit for public oratory, even if his natural 
timorousness had not of itself been sufficient to deter 
him. Whereby, in the end it came about, that his 
duties grew to be circumscribed within mere super- 
numerary attendance at the altar, and occasional 
confession of those few persons, who imagined that 
penances might be less strictly ordered by one so 
humble and retiring in manner, than by more rug- 
ged, overbearing, and fullspoken priests. Neither, for a 
while, did his devotion to the practice of his chosen art 
assist him into better favor and consideration ; for though 
he adorned the cathedral walls with many paintings by 
his own hand, it was not unnaturally supposed that actual 
beauty of design could scarcely emanate from one so 
timorous and uncouth, and his labors were tolerated as the 
harmless amusement of wasted hours rather than recog- 
nized as a substantial benefit to the church. 

But it came to pass, one day, that the great Leonardo 
da Vinci, in his journeying through France, visited the 
cathedral ; and standing for many minutes in wrapped and 
spellbound contemplation before the picture of Sainte- 
Clotilde, he pronounced it Worthy of lasting fame, and 
wished aloud that the artist had not been brought up a 
priest, since, under some other condition of life, he might 
have been able to give more study to the divine art, and 
in the end, mayhap, have become the equal of many 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


3 


painters of acknowledged distinction. With that, the 
sympathetic tide -of friendly recognition began at once 
to swell bountifully in Pere Rouflet’s favor. His associate 
priests, no longer treating him with neglect, as they had per- 
haps unwittingly done, failed not henceforth to sound his 
praises as one who had reflected exceeding honor upon 
their order. Even the Bishop recognized his talent, with 
a gracious smile, and observed that it was possible to 
praise the Lord as reverently with brush and pencil as 
with canticle and prayer. Perhaps, thereby, the Bishop, 
being naturally a man of few words, which yet were often 
spoken to the point, was not averse to administer gentle 
reproof of some who prided themselves too greatly upon 
their capacity for loud-mouthed song, and, in its rotund 
exercise, too often threatened to drown his own more gen- 
tle tones. Let that matter as it may, it is certain that, as 
most commonly happens, the hidden sarcasm was not at 
all perceived, and the Bishop’s pleasant words were taken 
as redounding only to the glory of Pere Rouflet. With 
such effect, indeed, that from this time the others no long- 
er spoke of him as Poor Pere Rouflet, but rather as Rou- 
flet the artist-priest. And for his allotted studio, the want 
of which he had hitherto most severely felt, a vacant room 
was set off in the cathedral itself adjoining the sacristy ; it 
being understood that thenceforth his only duty would be 
to bestow new glory upon the church by the continued 
exercise of that peculiar talent which God had given him. 

It was a small and contracted space thus portioned off to 


4 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


him, indeed, yet all sufficient for his purpose. Flanked by 
one tall narrow window, set with thick stained glass and 
crowded with heavy stone mullions, so that at times the 
sunlight appeared to struggle in with difficulty ; a nook 
which never, at the best, could bask in that full glare and 
radiance of sunshine to which other artists everywhere 
aspired, deeming it necessary for the perfection of their 
work ; yet, in reality, bright enough for all his allotted 
labor, so much more suitably did it affect him than the 
old dreary end of monastery-hall, where, painfully and on 
sufferance, he had previously carried out his tasks. Fur- 
nished with a chair or two, — an easel drawn close against 
the window, — a table for his paints and pallet, — and with 
a small prie-Dieu in the further corner ; these were all the 
visible appliances of his art. The prie-Dieu not less than 
the others, indeed; since constantly when he felt his inven- 
tive power failing, and his enthusiasm growing faint, he 
would there kneel and ask for saintly assistance ; often, 
after the credulous fashion of the period, imagining that 
in his restored self-assurance and renewed energy of con- 
ception, his prayer had been answered by heavenly inter- 
vention. There were other times, however, when, with 
more abundant command of reason, he would become 
convinced that his temporary failure came only from 
weariness of the flesh, through toil too long continued. 
Then Pere Roufiet would leave his little studio for change 
of scene and occupation, — going not far, however, so reluc- 
tant was he to abandon altogether the neighborhood of his 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


5 


artistic labor, — passing merely through a low doorway into 
the main body of the building, — there pacing hour after 
hour over the marble pavement, and treading the course 
of the long narrow aisles as in former times he had trod- 
den the dull monastery hall and cloisters, — feeling, indeed, 
a kind of ghostly companionship in every seam and stain 
of the old cathedral. 

Old, indeed, let it here be said ; since even in those 
long-past days the church of Sainte-Clotilde was account- 
ed venerable. Not, indeed, with that advance of gathered 
centuries which tells an unpleasing story of decrepitude 
and decay, but rather with that stately progression which, 
in every line and seam and wrinkle cut by corroding time, 
while losing meanwhile no cherished attribute of former 
strength and beauty, ever assumes a newer and more 
graceful dignity of majesty and repose. All this could be 
plainly noted in the rough, gray walls ; which, though time- 
stained and weather-beaten, still stood as firm and im- 
pregnable as at their first pious founding. In the hidden 
nooks and crannies, where, preventing hands not readily 
reaching up, tangles of long wanton weeds and close-knit 
mosses had taken up their lodgment, and striven to strike 
their thin roots inward, and thereby assist the slow rav- 
ages of time ; yet all the while had proved themselves so 
feeble in their efforts as merely to impart a new and pic- 
turesque fringing to the prevailing symmetry and strength. 
In the whole length of the square towers ; where ran from 
top to bottom a jagged rent; which at the worst, however. 


6 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


shovved only as a faint and almost indecipherable line, that 
during long centuries to come might not spread open more 
distinctly to the view. In the broken line of clerestory 
roof ; whence two or three of the flying buttresses had 
fallen, leaving without seeming support their connecting 
pinnacles, which still, however, held themselves inde- 
pendently aloft in no acknowledgment of inquiet or tot- 
tering condition. In the intricate carvings and quaint 
gargoyles and corbel-heads; which had begun to moulder 
away at either side, though in others that remained more 
nearly intact there was still visible a rich and abiding 
beauty of mingled grace and strength. Throughout the 
whole broad expanse of walls and roof and tower, indeed ; 
where was now, perhaps, no perfectly clear-cut edge or 
corner left, since everywhere the tooth of time and the 
violence of siege as well, had eaten or brushed away much 
of the finer workmanship of the builders’ art, and had left 
only roughened and rounded surfaces ; yet where, for all 
that, there was such rich appearance of sturdy, un- 
broken and immovable dignity of repose and strength, 
that none who looked up could fail to realize for a cer- 
tainty that many generations must still pass away before 
the church should succumb to actual ruin. 

An old age, firm and vigorous outside, and marked 
with strength and durability even more plainly within, 
•where naturally there should be fewer evidences of decay ; 
since there the violence of tempests could not assail, nor 
had the reckless passion of warfare chanced to penetrate. 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


7 


And yet, even within the church, there were to be de- 
tected a few well-marked traces of the gathered cen- 
turies. Not, indeed, in the glittering altars ; which, 
under careful supervision and repair, still shone as 
bright and resplendant as when unveiled before their 
earliest crowds of worshippers. Nor in the carved 
screens and confessionals, models of mediaeval beauty. 
Nor in the broad tessellated pavement ; which, though 
now worn smooth by the tread of myriads of feet, 
was still as perfect as ever in its design and continu- 
ity. Nor yet in the pictured glass ; which, as bright and 
unfaded as when first lifted into place, let the softened 
light steal freely through, to chase away with richly-blend- 
ed colors the opposing shadows. In such respects, when 
seen within, the church seemed likely to hold its head 
proudly aloft for many an age to come. Yet even there, 
the faint, moist breath of time had left its subtle impress ; 
developed here in the quiet and picturesque darkening of 
the chiselled stone, — there in an almost indistinguishable 
mouldering away of the more sharpened corners of the 
shapely sculpturings, — everywhere, indeed, in scarcely 
perceptible stains, gaining ground by only a hair-breadth 
every few years, yet none the less in the end destined to 
prevail. 

Therefore it was that the church of Sainte-Clotilde, 
though still well-built and sturdy, might already be con- 
sidered old. And it might also be, that it was this very 
aspect of venerable stolidity which caused it to array 


8 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


itself in harmony with the artist-priest, and to steal upon 
his affections with such subtle manifestations of ghostly 
companionship. For, though he might not openly be 
conscious of the fact, there seemed in the church’s 
outer aspect to exist some strange and weird likeness to 
himself ; he being in appearance so worn and weary — so 
different from the bustling world outside, and yet, with all 
the burthen of his bodily imperfections weighing upon 
him, not ill-content to look forward to many more years 
of earnest work and duty. Certain it was, that a newer and 
grander b .ilding, with every seam and corner well and 
accurately defined and its walls shining with bright, unspot- 
ted freshness could not have been thus responsive to his 
heart. Rather would his abashed nature have fled 
affrighted from any mystic contact with it. Here, how- 
ever, all seemed woven into his soul, — an attribute of 
himself. For hours, therefore, he would wander up and 
down the long aisles, marking every stain or light frac- 
ture as though it were an old friend, and childishly 
imagining that, from day to day, he could note an 
advance of decrepitude that, in reality, only centuries 
could develop, — brushing the dust from antique carved 
tombs, — reading anew their inscriptions as though they 
were written for his inspection, and spoke to him alone, — 
and far better and oftener than all else, standing for long 
periods in wrapt and earnest contemplation of his own 
paintings, which hung here and there around the walls. 
With some element of self-admiration, possibly, when he 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


9 


felt that in any delineation of form or expression he 
had achieved success ; yet withal, shrinking from open 
acknowledgment or perception of such elation, as though 
it were a sin. Striving to think that, in the matter of this 
attention to his own good work, he was merely studying 
it with reference to future avoidance of its faults ; yet ever 
and anon glancing guiltily over his shoulder, lest others in 
the cathedral, chancing to stroll near, might observe him 
in his self-absorption, and impute to him more sin of 
vanity than should be really due. 

Yet at most times there was little danger of such 
interruption. It happened that even in that long-past 
century, the church had already somewhat fallen from 
its grand estate, and had come at last to have little 
need at all of long drawn out aisles and rare and broad 
transepts. There had come the time when other edifices 
of superior attraction stood rivals to it, and enticed away 
the Court and nobles, and much of that attendant crowd 
of wealth and station which once had not disdained to 
honor the old church with their formal worship. Grad- 
ually, too, the centre of city affluence had crept away 
into other directions ; and with slow timorous approach, 
the closely crowded abodes of artisan and student, and 
the barracks of archer and musqueteer had stolen forward 
in their stead, and had begun to press rudely around the 
building. Upon the coming of such ignoble throng, 
more and more did the former brilliant congregations fall 
away, until there remained only a plebian and scattered 


lO 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


attendance. Now and again, upon some great occa- 
sion calling forth the might of olden association, there 
would be chance renewal of the former glories ; but, 
for the most part, there was merely dull neglect and 
apathy. At matins and vespers, indeed, a handful of the 
faithful might be present ; but at other times there was 
most generally dead silence and desertion. Possibly a 
market woman with her basket at her side, kneeling half- 
way up the aisle ; — or holy devotee prostrated upon the 
pavement near the high altar ; — or guardsman standing 
shame-facedly near the door, leaning upon his halbert, 
while, with some superstitious feeling that an act of prayer 
might bring fortune during his projected raid in the train 
of noted Free Lances, he repeated an ave. These or 
such as these would generally be all. And even these, 
standing or kneeling in the broad nave, would be little 
likely to take note of the small bent figure of the Priest, 
facing the narrow intricacies of the side aisles ; even 
though he stopped and stood for hours, absorbed with 
admiration, before his own works of art. 



CHAPTER ir. 

T here came anon, as often before, one of those 
days wherein Pere Roufiet felt his mind uneasy 
and his conceptions deadened, so that he failed to labor 
at his art with due success. It was a bright and pleasant 
morning; and with less than the accustomed difficulty the 
glowing sunshine crept through the heavy mullions of the 
window and brightened the studio with abounding cheer- 
fulness. One sparkling ruddy ray fell aslant the little 
easel, and spread broadly across the canvas, bringing out 
into new brilliancy the colors already laid. The picture 
showed design for head of Saint Jerome ; — the face sketch- 
ed out, the flesh tints partially given, and the flowing gray 
beard half completed. So far the Priest had labored with 
satisfying effect, but now he seemed all at once hindered 
from any further progress. In vain he kneeled at the 
prie-Dieu, and besought the aid of St. Jerome himself in 
creation of the prototype ; no heavenly assistance came 
to bring back the capacity for toil or restore the scattered 
inspiration. Then, seeing what he should have known be- 
fore, that his want of force had come from weariness of 


12 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


the flesh and from too long continued absorption of the 
mind, Pere Rouflet passed through the little door, and 
stood in the main body of the church. 

There, after his wont in such emergencies, he paced for 
a few minutes up and down the aisles, caring for no other 
sphere of exercise or any different distraction of his 
thoughts. Strolled listlessly here and there, for the thou- 
sandth time reading the obscure inscriptions on the monu- 
ments, brushing away the dust from the stone carvings, and 
stealthily pausing now and then before his completed pic- 
tures. Now before his Martyrdom of St. Eustace ; only 
to find his accustomed admiration of its beauty deadened 
by the torpor of his mind, so that in place of excellence 
he now saw only distortion and false coloring. Then be- 
fore the Entombment ; where now, and seemingly for the 
first time, he detected cruel errors of light and shade. 
With that he sighed deeply ; being not wont, indeed, to 
find himself thus disappointed in his favorites. There 
was one relief, however, that never yet had failed him. 
and for this he sought. Gazing timorously along the 
whole body of the church, with that strange diffidence 
which made him so greatly dread the observation of other 
men, and now seeing, to his great satisfaction, that there 
was no one present to disturb him — not even pious devo- 
tee or rough man-at-arms, he left the shadowed shelter of 
the aisle, and came forward into the clear exposure of the 
brighter nave. Thence advancing to the region of the 
choir, he paused and fastened his eyes with eager, satisfy- 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


13 


ing gaze upon one full-length majestic figure, set in the 
centre of the large stained window over and behind the 
high altar. This was his great picture of Sainte-Clotilde, 
— the creation that had made his artistic fame. 

The great Leonardo da Vinci had not been at fault in 
looking upon the Sainte-Clotilde as the most glorious of 
all Pere Rouflet’s works. Compared with that, his Mar- 
tyrdom of Saint Eustace and his Entombment were of 
little worth. Those were commonplace efforts of the 
fancy ; developed with care, indeed, and studiously accu- 
rate in posture, anatomy and coloring, but wanting in that 
inner depth of soul which seldom results from any other 
labor than that which is directed by passionate absorption. 
But upon the Sainte-Clotilde the Priest had lavished not 
merely the ordinary resources of his art. He had thrown 
out his whole heart upon the work, giving to its prosecu- 
tion a wild devouring enthusiasm, that could know no 
rest until every aspiration of his being had been more 
than satisfied, — letting his full nature glow unrestrained 
with tender sentiment, — painting from the recollection of 
an absent face, but with such lively consciousness of it, 
indeed, that it was as though the face was placed in living 
beauty before him, — making every line and shadow instinct 
with well- conceived expression, — combining faithful ten- 
derness for the earthly friend with devout adoration of 
the beatified saint. So that, at the last, as the natural re- 
sult, the painting could scarcely fail to grow into beau- 


14 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


teous form, replete with almost every noble impress of 
both human and celestial attributes. 

Unlike his other works, all of which adorned the body of 
the church, this painting was not executed upon canvas, but 
upon one large pane of glass set in the centre of the great 
stained window of the apse. At night, of course, the 
picture could not be seen, except as an illegible stain ; and 
even in the afternoon there were times when, beneath the 
influence of a passing outward gloom, the colors seemed 
faint and lifeless. But in the morning, if the sun was 
clear, the whole work would glow with unrivalled bril- 
liancy ; every minute shade of outline and costume com- 
ing out unbroken and distinct, — every tender expression 
of the countenance developing itself into sublimity and 
beauty. 

As in the other and similar works, it followed one com- 
mon fashion of design ; exhibiting itself as a stately form 
in purple, crimson and gold, standing upon folds of fleecy 
clouds that circled upwards from the feet and around the 
head, a shining aureola of celestial glory. It was the face 
alone, that, for the intensity of its beauty and sweetness 
had made the work a masterpiece ; and in that particular 
the painter had achieved success only from the fact that 
he had not needed to invent a face or to copy old estab- 
lished precedents, but that for his guidance he had had a 
living model before his mind. From this fact also, it re- 
sulted that, apart from mere grace and loveliness of fea- 
ture and expression, there was a character that stamped 


UNDER THE BELLS.' 


15 


the face with a peculiar beauty of individuality. There 
were few who could understandingly look upon it, with- 
out perceiving that it must have had its living representa- 
tive. Leonardo himself, at a rough glance had detected 
this circumstance in the picture’s origin ; and while prais- 
ing the work, had lauded also the judgment with which 
the artist must have selected the model. And in the con- 
gregation of those few who came there to worship, it was 
well known who that model had been ; in consideration of 
which, among nearly all, the painting was for that the more 
abundantly approved, as helping to keep fresh and holy 
the recollection of one whom each had learned to love 
for her devotion and deeds of charity. In the faith and 
practice of that approval, the Priest now held himself 
most steadfast of them all ; and, while stealing frequent 
opportunity to gaze with the pride of a successful artist 
upon his work, he never failed to mingle with it his loving 
appreciation of one who had been the only friend of a 
desolate and secluded life. 

Thus upon that especial morning, gazing upwards in 
contemplative mood, and noting with pleasure how every 
line and feature of the painting shone 'brightly in its full 
transparent blaze of sunlit glory, Pere Rouflet heard be- 
hind him the light footfall of soft sandal, mingled with 
the solid tread of martial boot. Almost before he could 
turn, in wonderment that so easily his presence could thus 
have been stolen upon, and what he deemed his infatua- 
tion of worldly pride made manifest, there broke uix)n his 


i6 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


hearing the deep tones of manhood mingled with the soft 
voice of woman, falling pleasantly upon his ears in familiar 
converse. And when he looked around, he saw that three 
persons in courtly attire stood behind him. First to be 
noted was a tall and wondrously handsome man, — clad in 
richly embroidered velvet surcoat with cunningly slashed 
sleeves and lace adornments, — with ornamented sword 
dangling at his side, boots of Cordovan leather marked 
with golden ensigns of knighthood upon his feet, and 
plumed cap held reverently in the hand. Beside him 
stood a fair young girl, — with attire of similar richness, 
and equally suggestive of high rank and birth ; and 
added to it all, such lovely kindly face, that it seemed 
as though no human ingenuity in the matter of adorn- 
ment could properly reach up to the measure of her 
sweet young soul. Near the two, though at the moment 
a little behind them both, loitered a stripling page of 
the Royal Household ; decked with plumed cap and 
jewelled hiked dagger, and with pleasant and ingenu- 
ous expression, and likeness somewhat suggestive of the 
lady. 

“ Truly a wonderful painting of a most lovely face,” 
said the young girl to her companion. Then, turning to 
Pere Rouflet — “And tell me — who has had good fortune 
to be the artist ?” 

“ Myself, fair lady.” 

“ Yourself ?” 

“ Even so, lady. The great Leonardo da Vinci has 


UNDER THE BELLS. 17 

seen fit to praise my feeble essays,” he said, in sudden 
and even as it seemed to himself, unaccustomed garrul- 
ity of well satisfied pride ; “ and therefore, by consent and 
approbation of Holy Church, to me has been left the duty 
of adorning this cathedral.” 

“ And \yhom, Priest, — to ask further yet — does the figure 
represent ?” demanded the Knight, speaking with im- 
petuous tone, and as it would seem, with little knowledge 
of the true form of ecclesiastical address. He had been 
standing for the past moment in spirit of silent gloom, 
gazing up at the painting with something of a look of 
startled inquiry rather than of the admiration manifested 
by his companion, — a frown as of puzzling thought wrink- 
ling his brow, — nervously, the while, biting an end of his 
curling moustaches. “ And how — ” 

“ It is Sainte-Clotilde, Sir Knight.” 

“ Pardie ! Do I not know and see that well enough for 
myself, indeed ? Yet who was the fair original of the 
picture ? For well I can perceive that there must have 
been some one who lent her sweet face to the work ; since 
I take it that even the most gifted artists do not from the 
shallowness of their own crude, unaided fancies, elaborate 
such exceeding beauty of expression.” 

“ It is the face of a young girl who came among us from 
a distance, nearly two years ago,” Pere Rouflet rejoined ; 
speaking with hesitation, inasmuch as he doubted whether 
he should reply freely about the matter at all, much less 
bestow confidence upon such utter strangers. Yet, on the 


1 8 UNDER THE BELLS. 

Other hand, why should he make scruple in telling that 
which so many others knew as well ? “ She was constant 

with us in goodly work among the sick and poor, and for 
her kindliness of heart and sympathetic charity was be- 
loved by all who knew her. Whereby, in the end, she did 
not cease, until she had more solemnly devoted her labors 
to God’s service.” 

“ And her name ? ” 

“ She — she was called Manon. More than that I 
must not tell.” 

“ I understand,” the Knight responded, with something 
of unwitting gruffness of accent. “The secret of the 
Church — the seal of the confessional, is it not ? She was 
called Manon, yet had another name which could not be 
told, inasmuch as it might too readily reveal past history 
which rather should be forever hidden from the knowledge 
of the world. That is it, may I not understand ? — Well, 
Priest, remain at ease. I for one will not try to pry in- 
to your store of mysteries. — Have you now looked long 
enough, Cecile } Then will we move onward.” 

With that, the three passed slowly along towards the 
further end of the cathedral, — the Knight still frowning 
perplexedly, and again biting the twisted ends of his long 
moustaches, his fair companion seemingly filled with won- 
derment at his sudden outbreak of curiosity. But when, 
with the page at her side, she moved a pace or two in ad- 
vance, the Knight fell for a moment yet further behind, 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


9 


and nervously arresting Pere Rouflet by the arm, ex- 
claimed in lowered tone : 

“You spoke, Priest, somewhat as though all this was 
in the past. Is she — is she then dead ? “ 

Pere Rouflet for a moment hesitating, remained sileflt ; 
gazing downward at his feet, then looking up at the 
Knight’s face, as if there to search out, as in some mirror, 
the reason for the question. Something he there saw, in- 
deed, that perhaps he did not like ; and, with a tone of 
tremor in his voice, he answered ; 

“ Were I to say that she is dead. Sir Knight, — falling 
asleep by the mercy of God and in the faith of — ” 

“ Enough ! Enough ! — And what matters the faith ? ” 
the Knight muttered to himself ; and in those few hushed 
tones, it seemed to the Priest that he could detect an agi- 
tated quaver. “ So long as she is dead, how can it con- 
cern — ” Then the speaker’s voice sank so much lower 
yet, that no more could be distinctly heard, and he moved 
onward, the scowl upon his face seeming to deepen as he 
went. A moment longer, and he had rejoined his com- 
panions and the three were lending their attention to some 
other object of interest, — the carving of one of the trans- 
cept altars or the quaint inscriptions upon memorial tab- 
lets. Pere Rouflet remained alone, still gazing up at his 
masterpiece, — wondering a little at the nature of the late 
conversation, and again somewhat disturbed in mind with 
an impression that, despite all his caution, he might have 
spoken out too freely. 


20 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


But while he there stood, wrapped in his perplexing 
doubts and speculations, again there came behind him the 
soft fall of slippered foot, this time unmingled with tread 
of rude military boot, and she whom the Knight had called 
Cecile once more stood near. She had stolen away from 
the Knight, leaving him gazing moodily at some blackened 
stone effigy ; and now, with winsome, pleading grace, and 
attitude as of one descending to personal appeal, she laid 
her soft gloved hand lightly upon Pere Rouflet’s arm. 

“ Did I hear aright,” she said, “ that you are the painter 
of that glorious picture ? ” 

“ Even so,” he replied. 

“And will you paint my picture, also ? — Not as holy 
saint, for church adornment,” she added, with a smile 
“ but smaller, so as to be carried upon the heart, — for the 
loving heart of the Knight yonder, to whom I am affi- 
anced.” 

Pere Rouflet started ; as well, indeed, he might. Such 
application as that, had never before been made to him by 
any one. And ought he ever to think of becoming an 
ordinary artist of the world, and carrying his talents out- 
side the pale of Holy Church ? 

“ Do not say nay, until you have heard me,” she 
added, nervously plucking at his sleeve. “We have 
been long betrothed and I have for many months de- 
sired to make him this gift. Other artists have I con- 
sidered ; but he has spoken in captious criticism of each, 
upon my mere mention of the name, and therefore I can 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


21 


have none of them. Repeating these names to him as 
though by chance, indeed ; seeing that I would not have 
him suspect the nature of the gift that I intended for him. 
Rather should it come to him as a joyful and pleasant 
surprise. And now — ” 

“ Now, you say ? ” 

“ Now, for the first time, have I found an artist of 
whom I know he will approve, — yourself, indeed. Did 
you not mark how admiringly his gaze was fastened upon 
that painting, even as though it were a precious delight to 
his soul, — how eagerly he seemed to drink in every sweet 
expression and proportion ? Seeing that, I know he will 
be pleased with your work, though he has never been with 
that of any other. Grant me, therefore, this one request. 
There will be time for it all, and no weariness or dissatis- 
faction shall come to you, from my ever proving too criti- 
cal or exacting.” 

How could Pere Rouflet resist those pleadings, — those 
soft utterances of her heartfelt wish ? But yet he knew 
that he must do so. 

“ It is a request made, alas ! in vain,” he said, slowly 
shaking his head. “To the church alone owe I all my 
duty and constant service. Were I to stray away from my 
labor in her behalf—” 

“ And yet, why need you at all depart from that ? ” she in- 
terrupted. “ Or how, indeed, should neglect thereby ensue 
to Holy Church ? May not the pencil be employed in her 
adornment as well herein, as though the colors were laid di- 


22 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


rectly upon pane or panel ? For it is the church itself that 
would have recompense for the task. To yourself I would 
dare offer nothing ; but to the church, whatever it may 
ask. Looking around, even now I see clearly wherein I 
may prove of benefit to her. I gaze upon carved altar 
and gilded shrine, — upon elaborate rood-screen and sedi- 
lia ; — but alas ! how poor in comparison with all else are 
those little candlesticks ! Surely the church should have 
better adornments than such as these. — And now, for that 
little picture of myself, I will give to the church, two tall 
silver candlesticks of such beauty, richness and solidity as 
perhaps have seldom hitherto been seen." 

At hearing this, the breath of Pere Rouflet seemed al- 
most to forsake him, so thoroughly did her proposition 
meet the suggestions and longings of his own heart. Yes, 
— there lay the sole deficiency in the altar furniture of 
Sainte-Clotilde, — the beauty and completeness of tall sil- 
ver candlesticks. Her observant eyes had detected the 
omission, and now it lay in his power to have it remedied. 
There had been a time, indeed, when that defect had net 
existed. Ten years before, the high altar had had its 
candlesticks of solid silver, tall and shapely, and of the 
richest Florentine workmanship. But civil war had once 
more broken out, as so often before, and it had become 
needful that these treasures should be concealed. Pere 
Ambrose, the oldest of all the Priests, had taken that duty 
upon himself : burying the candlesticks, as was supposed, 
but telling no one where, lest some marauders of either 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


23 


warlike faction might with cruel torture wrest the secret 
from even the most faithful breast. The dangers of the 
civil war had passed away ; but by the time that fact had 
been definitely realized, Pere Ambrose had died of sudden, 
sharp illness, and the secret of the place of the treasure’s 
deposit had died with him. In vain had the ground of 
crypt, cloister and courtyard been thoroughly dug over 
and searched ; recovery of the candlesticks was no more 
possible than if the threatened marauders had actually 
seized and melted them. Since then, the church had lan- 
guished in the meek forlorn poverty of small bronze sub- 
stitutes ; waiting, meanwhile, the pious impulse of some 
faithful worshipper to replace the glory of its former 
days. — And lo ! here at last there was free and generous 
offer of the gift, and himself selected to be the happy me- 
dium of its realization. Why, indeed, should he not give 
his talents scope outside the pale of the Church for such 
a happy consummation, seeing that all the benefit of his 
labors would be so worthily applied within ? And why 
would not the new gift be practically the fruit of his toil, 
as much as though with his own hands he had carved the 
standards from the solid metal ? 

“ I cannot refuse the gift nor deny any labor of mine 
that can procure it,” therefore he said, after a moment of 
almost overwhelming emotion. “To you, fair lady, be 
the glory of it ; to myself merely the portion of an hum- 
ble instrument in properly promoting the holy purpose. 
And how, then, shall we begin ? ” 


24 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


“ Each day, or as often as to you may seem proper. I 
can come here as though for worship,” she responded. 
“ Once here, it will be for yourself to say where and how 
we must meet.” 

“Yes, — and once here, my daughter, the rest will be 
very easy. See yonder confessional and take note of the 
little door beside it. That little door leads to a room 
given up to me for the practice of my art, — a room ad- 
joining the sacristy. No one may enter there except my- 
self. Coming to the front of the confessional, a single 
step further will lead you into the room. Even should 
you be seen entering, who would venture to think amiss 
of it ? ” 

“ Who, indeed ? ” she answered, thinking of him only 
as a man of sacred office, about whose reputation there 
could be no evil imputation, and not regarding the half- 
checked sigh with which the Priest gazed down upon his 
misshapen figure, — saddening himself with the certamty 
that even upon worldly grounds, no one would ever think 
of connecting another person with him in reproach. “To- 
morrow then, at noon, will I be here, and we will begin 
the work.” 

With that she lightly tripped away and rejoined the 
Knight and page ; and after a little longer idle strolling 
about the building, looking listlessly upon this or that ob- 
ject of art or veneration, and probably with the minds of 
neither of them well fixed upon what they saw, they 
reached the broad porch again, and vanished from sight. 



CHAPTER III. 



T herefore the next morning about the hour 
of noon, the fair Cecile tripped lightly into the 
nave of the church, attended by a single waiting-maid. 
There chanced to be no one within, not even any of the 
cathedral’s usual devotees ; and there was little occasion, 
therefore, for pretence of entering the confessional. Pass- 
ing quickly across the church, and leaving the attendant 
to amuse herself outside, Cecile rapped gently at the 
Priest’s studio and softly entered. 

She found Pere Rouflet sitting absorbed before his 
easel. The idleness of the previous day and probably 
his superadded prayers to Saint Jerome for assistance, had 
inflamed his mind with devout imaginings, and had so 
greatly restored his capacity for artistic labor that the 
whole morning had been attended with more than ordi- 
nary success. New and continually improved expressions 
had been gathered upon the face of the pictured saint, 
almost at mere touch of brush, — light and shade had 
fallen into their proper places seemingly by mere volition 
of the artist, so triumphantly did he progress. Perhaps, 


26 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


for the moment, he had almost forgotten his appointment 
of the day before, through his interest in the work already 
at his hand. But when the door slowly opened and he 
beheld his visitor, he arose and welcomed her with gentle 
courtesy. 

“ Hoping,” he added, “that you will not find my little 
studio too rude and tame to attract and interest you. 
Seeing that it must be so unlike any others that you have 
visited.” 

For he noted at the first, the uncertain and inquiring 
glance which she cast around her, letting her eyes pass 
in rapid review from groined ceiling and bare walls past 
the long narrow heavily mullioned window down to the 
cold stone floor ; and he thought that perhaps she might 
find in the place a forbidding cheerlessness. She who at 
the Court must have been so accustomed to what was 
bright and richly decorated, and, after the poor manner 
of the day, luxurious ! At his words she perceived his 
thought, chased tlie semblance of shadow from her face 
and smilingly seated herself with grace and ease, as though 
in her own home. 

“ Different, perhaps, from other studios that 1 may have 
seen,” she responded, “ though not unpleasingly or inaptly 
so. To each place must be its own attributes, most surely ; 
and no one would expect to discover here the bedecking 
and paraphernalia belonging to an artist of the outside 
world. Few studios have I seen, indeed. — it may be said, 
none other of late than that of the Painter of the Royal 
Court.” 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


27 


“ And that ? ” said Pere Rouflet, a little curious, pos- 
sibly, to learn how other artists fared. 

“ It was last month, that being at Paris, I went thither, 
to persuade him to design a mythological group for a 
tapestry I am working. For such, you will know, are the 
serious occupations of us maids of honor. And I found 
the studio large — three times as large as this, it may be, — 
hung on every wall with tapestries such as I might not 
dream of equalling with these poor hands, — here and there 
a bright, glowing painting, — cushioned seats, — arms be- 
longing to a past age, — broad sculptured vases, — costumes 
of Eastern fashion, — all things collected there, it seems 
to me, that might be useful as accessory in the painter’s 
art or that could tempt him into inspiration. While here, 
— I do not mislike the difference, indeed, — here — ” 

“ Here there are merely bare walls and few appliances 
of art, you would say ? But that is partly because those 
other accessories are not requisite. He needs not forced 
inspirations, whose dreams are filled only with the figures 
of the holy saints, looking lovingly and approvingly down 
upon him, as though to tempt a trial of the limner’s art 
in their behalf. Nor does he need stores of old time or 
other-clime costumes, whose, works require only flowing 
robes, proper alike for apostle and prophet on earth, or 
ransomed saint in heaven.” 

With that, feeling that he need explain himself no fur- 
ther, Pere Rouflet began his preparation for the picture. 
He moved the easel with the St. Jerome carefully and lov- 


28 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


ingly one side, and drew the little table in front of him. 
Then, taking from the drawer a small, properly prepared 
square of vellum, he bade the fair Cecile sit where the 
light might most properly fall upon her and give necessary 
shade to her features ; and so began his task. 

Then, for the first time, he was able to take careful note 
of her full loveliness. And as he made that needful be- 
ginning of artistic contemplation, it seemed as though be- 
fore that time he had nowhere seen her equal, — she was 
so dazzling and unapproachable in the exceeding blaze 
and power of her beauty. No other such softened and 
perfected tints, — no other such clustering wreaths of 
golden locks thickly shadowing forehead and cheeks, to be 
found in all the world. Eyes so bright and sparkling, — 
teeth so small and pearl-like, — each feature so properly in 
accord with every other, giving to the entire face a per- 
fection of symmetry and proportion, — such a soul-lit ex- 
pression of sweetness and vivacity enhancing the whole, 
— where else might her equal or her prototype be found ? 

But why enter into idle speculations as to whether the 
like of that beauty might anywhere else exist, or as to 
what others might think about this ? All that could serve 
for nothing in the present. To him there was now the 
one task of reproducing that sweet face with as much of 
its abounding flush of beauty and vivacity as human art 
could compass. In the beginning, this could involve no 
great labor ; and whatever skill might now be required 
consisted mainly in the due preparation for future artistic 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


29 


work, seeing that his task for the present lay altogether 
with form and feature. These must be sketched out on 
the vellum and accurately shadowed, before there should 
be any thought about expression or tint. Those latter 
qualities were matters to be considered nearer to the 
end ; at present there was the duty of simple mechanical 
reproduction of outline and position. Therefore, with- 
drawing his mind from extraneous thought and reserving 
for the future his more earnest and painstaking study, Pere 
Rouflet sat for an hour leisurely sketching out here and 
there a line ; only, that he might the better give the out- 
line its necessary life, wondering, the while, how best he 
might encourage her into conversation with him, so as to 
banish any tendency to constrained attitude or expression. 

For a while, in vain. The minutes flew onward and 
his brush stole silently along the vellum ; and even as 
silently sat the young girl. Hardly did she seem a living 
being at all, but rather some picturesque ideal of herself ; 
continuing thus motionless and absorbed, her beauteous 
face displayed in bright relief against her chair’s tall, 
carved back, and her golden hair falling around her shoul- 
ders in thick careless mass, — sitting thus speechless, with 
eyes fixed in forgetful revery upon the artist, — like his 
own studio, so different from anything she had ever seen 
before. It was even as a dream to her, indeed. The 
strange cold forbidding aspect of the room itself had not 
yet become natural or familiar to her, philosophize as 
she might about its appropriateness to its purpose ; — how 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


30 

then could she reconcile herself all at once to the artist 
himself ? 

Certainly he was not like any one whom she had seen 
before, even as his place was different. Nothing about 
him, indeed, suggestive of the gay cavalier appearance of 
other and more famous painters, who, with suits of Geno- 
ese velvet and plumed caps and rich laces and ornament- 
ed swords, were wont, in manner and costume to ape, by 
favor and patronage of the King, the nobility of the Court. 
Nothing in him of that air of reckless audacity and 
spendthrift volatility that commended the Court painter 
to the admiration of the maids of honor, and bade them 
consent to intimacies that could amuse for the moment 
and need not compromise or harm. Nothing, indeed, in 
him recalling such traits as these. Merely a small, pale 
man ; in well worn dark cloth without decoration, or even 
what might be called symmetry or design, so clumsily was 
it shapen, so harshly stained and patched. A figure not 
distorted into grotesque deformity, indeed, but still with 
certain rude, angular, unpleasing outlines ; one shoulder 
raised above the other, and in every limb a look as though 
the mere life of the body was all that might be required, 
and any superior traits indicative of physical manliness 
should not be given a thought. An earnest and not unin- 
teresting face, it might be ; but roughly modelled in fea- 
ture, full of anxious and careworn expressions, and stamped 
beyond its years with an appearance of age to which the 
carelessly fashioned tonsure gave unnatural addition. 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


31 


Surely, after all, in coming to him for beauty of art she 
must have made a mistake, having spoken, most likely, too 
eagerly and hastily from the impulse of her thoughts; 
and it was scarcely possible that this small uncouth priest 

I 

could pretend to vie in artistic excellence with other art- 
ists already well renowned. Great, indeed, would be the 
ridicule at Court, if it should chance that her adventure 
were ever to be known and her portrait produced from 
such a limner, replete with hideous distortions. 

“ I read your thought, — or at least, I partly read it,” 
said Pere Rouflet, of a sudden pausing and looking her 
full in the face. “ It may be that, after all, you feel dis- 
trust of my ability, — though whether I read aright in this 
I cannot say. But that you wonder how, being Priest of 
Holy Church, I have learned to add my decoration of its 
altar to my service before it, — that, indeed — ” 

“Of that, indeed, I wondered,” she responded, care- 
fully disregarding his first correct supposition. “ Though 
why such a thing should not be, or why it might not 
oftener be, seeing that the love of Church might so easily 
lead to faithful regard for its proper embellishment — ” 

“ This, then, I will tell you ; and how it has all come 
about,” Pere Rouflet responded, interrupting her. And 
folding his arms upon the table before him, so that he 
might better speak at ease, he began. 

“ You may not know, how universally ambition rules 
the soul, — how earnestly the heart of man will often 
crave the approbation of fellow man. I speak not alto- 


32 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


gather of that mad ambition known at Court, where it 
is sought to gain distinction by leading armies to slaughter 
other armies with success. But everywhere and to every 
man, even in the lower ranks of life, there is the wish to 
be regarded as more than a mere unit in a mass, — to be 
looked up to as superior to other men around him in 
some quality or qualification. I speak thus in preamble, 
that it may not seem strange to you that even poor Pere 
Rouflet has his ambitions.” 

“ And is it not right that it should be so ? ” Cecil re- 
sponded. 

“ It is right, indeed ; though possibly the desire should 
not glow too warmly, since thereby it might lead to the 
mere madness of ambition, inciting to aims that work only 
evil to mankind. That, indeed, was not my inclination. 
How could it be, in one born as humbly as myself, and 
with such small and ignoble physical power ? Well, let 
that pass. I will only say that, being of low degree and, 
if the truth must be told, of no known parentage, it was 
not to be supposed that under ordinary circumstances I 
should have been reserved for anything other than to grow 
up in ignorance, and in the end, to help fill up the wasted 
armies of the King. From that, however, my poor weak- 
ness of misshapen frame saved me ; compelling me, as I 
grew up, to choose the. solitary life of garret corner, with 
books for my companions, rather than the rough play of 
the streets. And so, advancing more and more in love 
for learning, there came the time when I entered the 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


33 


Church as acolyte — then rose in my ambition until at last 
a place in the priesthood fulfilled the longing of my heart.” 

“ That, surely, was a worthy ambition, Pere Rouflet ?” 

“True ; but like most ambitions, disappointing when 
attained. For when I looked for pleasant intercourse and 
companionship with my associate priests, I felt myself 
somewhere always rebuffed. Not with rude words or ac- 
tion, indeed ; but with the silent manner or the cautious 
and reserved intonation that debars freedom of speech 
and keeps intimacy at a distance. How, after all, should 
I'^the waif upon the streets, the child of poverty — be 
entitled to association with those who owed their position 
to high influence, who had received their sacerdotal edu- 
cation from the schools of Rome itself, who found in their 
vocation nothing which should forbid their mingling in 
the society of the Court, who held their places about the 
altar as mere stepping stones to bishoprics and cardinal- 
ates ? Therefore it happened that I felt myself still 
thrust aloof from other men, — as lonely amid the throng 
of priests within the choir as when poring over tattered 
scrolls in darkened garret.” 

“ And then ? Surely there must have been some relief 
from that ? ” 

“ At first, indeed, I could see none. I had made the 
only career that fate had allowed me to mark out, — I 
knew that therein, with my need of influence and my 
lack of physical power, there could be no promotion, — I 
learned almost to despair. Could I but rise by some 


34 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


talent that should lift me above mere formal priest-craft, 
— become great preacher and thereby move the hearts of 
thousands until I found myself all at once distinguished, 
— or write some learned treatise that should make me 
famous as exemplifier of the faith, — but all these paths 
were beyond my power. Certainly the former was im- 
practicable, seeing that my voice is so weak and broken 
that I cannot lift it high ; and often when the occasion 
comes to take upon myself alone some portion of 
the offices, I pause and tremble, and know that I remain 
unheard. What sore mortification I have met in this, 
perhaps you can scarcely imagine. Even now, there are 
times when I envy the sonorous utterances of others, 
drawing thereby the attention of crowds, and for the mo- 
ment I feel that I would barter all my natural gifts for 
some such passing moment of triumph.” 

“And is not that the very excess of weakness ?” asked 
the listener. “ For why should the power to pour forth 
words that die at the instant be preferred to the rare 
talent of adorning the church with works that will last for 
ages ? ” 

“ You are right ; and so, indeed, I should reason with 
myself. It is merely that at times there will still come back, 
unbidden, the old distrust of having been blessed with any 
serviceable talent at all. But it chanced that while thus 
fretting my heart with disappointment, I bethought 
myself of a way to achieve respect if not distinction. I 
dimly felt that some power of art lay in me, though I knew 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


35 


not how much. But I would use it freely for all that it 
might avail. And this, therefore, is what I did.” 

With that Pere Rouflet unlocked a lower drawer of the 
table before him and drew forth a roll of sheets of vel- 
lum, trimmed into equal size and fastened at the back in 
something of the manner of a printed book. Turning 
the leaves slowly and carefully, he showed to his com- 
panion wondrously rich emblazonments of illuminative 
art. Christian monograms and texts and symbols, work- 
ed in every combination of graceful arabesque fancy 
which could seem possible to the imagination of man, — 
here standing out plainly from light background of faint 
tracery, there almost hidden in intricate convolutions of 
scroll-work, — the whole design of each emblazonment be- 
ing finished in gold and purple and crimson, with such 
bountiful wealth of illustration that the sheets of vellum 
seemed like richly stained glass, and it was scarcely amiss 
to fancy that if held up, the light would pour through 
them in glowing floods of color. 

“And is it a possible thing,” asked the other amazed 
at the exceeding richness Of th^ display, “that this 
most excellent work did not procure for you the merited 
fame ? ” 

“What would you say ? Fame, indeed ? Nay, that is 
more than I had hoped for, even then. All that I asked 
was the regard of my companions, the friendly breaking 
down of the wall that shut me out from fellow-association, 
— something to show that the hearts of other men might 


36 UNDER THE BELLS. 

be moved favorably towards me, with gentle appreciation 
of a talent that they did not happen to possess. In this, 
also, I was deceived. For why should I take glory to 
myself or hope for others’ regard, by reason of a gift 
that was already all too common ? These trifles may 
seem to you more rich and beautiful than they really 
are, by reason of your having hitherto seen so few of 
such. But it is none the less true, that in every monastery 
through the land and even in many secluded corners 
where laymen work, scrolls more beautiful than 
these are constantly produced. And therefore, when I 
exhibited these to my fellow priests, I was rewarded 
with but faint compliment ; and then both my talent 
and myself remained forgotten or unnoticed as before.” 

There was a pause and for a moment, silence. 
The fair Cecile would have wished to say something 
to show her own appreciation of the rich work spread 
out before her, and if possible to help heal the wound 
that previous neglect had inflicted ; only, in the tumult 
of her thoughts she knew not how to word them. But 
from that moment, as she gazed upon the Priest and saw 
how his poor ill-shapen homely face was lighted up with 
the workings of a cultured soul within, until he seemed 
almost endowed with a certain quaint beauty, her mistrust 
of his genius passed away forever, and she felt that in 
coming to him she had not made mistake. 

“ Therefore was I once more thrown back upon my 
olden life of solitude and despair,” continued Pere 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


37 


Roufiet, breaking at last the uncomfortable silence. 
“ But learn from me, that after all there is an upward 
path laid out for every one who searches for it — that 
there is no talent, however hidden, that will not find 
a passage to the light. For lo ! even while I lay 
supine and broken-hearted in my despair, my destined 
course was unrolled before me. There came a day when 
it was necessary that a special envoy of the Church 
should be appointed to go to Rome, carrying thither 
from the King to the Holy Father, a diamond tiara, 
in gratitude for recovery from sudden violent illness. 
There were men-at-arms commanded by a Captain of the 
Royal Guard for protection, and a Bishop with twelve 
priests for dignity and state. Of the latter body I was 
made one ; appointed partly because I was so little ser- 
viceable at home and thereby might avail as well as any 
other to fill out a retinue, and partly because there were 
others who were unwilling to go, seeing that the way was 
long and accounted dangerous to travellers. — Therefore 
I was chosen ; going, let it be confessed, right willingly, 
since the journey would be a change from troubled 
thought ; and moreover, besides the wish to look upon 
the Holy Father at Rome, I felt a desire to see those 
works of art, the fame of which had reached me, even at 
this great distance.” 

“ That desire, — did you not even then understand it 
aright. Fere Roufiet ? ” the listener cried, almost with en- 
thusiasm. “ It was the realization of long hidden 


38 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


genius, making itself known at the last, after so great 
tribulation.” 

“ Nay, that may not altogether be ; though of a cer- 
tainty it was the desire to create for myself a talent. 
But be that as it may, I journeyed with the cavalcade 
across the Appenines, meeting few adventures by the 
way ; and at the end we gained the purpose of our 
journey and placed the tiara in the hands of the Holy 
Father. I saw him, myself, be it said ; and with the 
others of our embassy, received his benediction. And 
then, far better than all things else,” continued the Priest 
rising and pacing up and down the narrow floor, uncon- 
scious how unchurchmanlike were his words, inasmuch 
as they drew comparisons of which other ecclesiastics 
might not readily approve, “ then it was that not many 
days after, at Florence, — where w^e tarried long on our 
homeward route, — I looked upon the works of the great 
Cimabue and his pupil, Giotto, and studied the noted 
paintings of many others, also, drinking in as by in- 
spiration, a knowledge of the art. There, too, I saw and 
conversed with the renowned Andrea del Sarto and Fra 
Bartolommeo, who, recognizing the longing of my heart, 
were pleased to teach me many principles of the divine 
calling. These inspirations and principles I brought home 
with me, saying naught upon the subject to any one, but 
ever revolving them over and over in my fevered mind. 
And when I had returned, I rolled up my illuminated 
vellums, as you see them now, putting them out of sight 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


39 


as matter unworthy of true art ; and purchased me a 
square of canvass, and, stealthily at first, tried my hand, 
seeking not original design but merely to make fair copy 
of what others had done before me ; and in the end 
I found out, oh blessed discovery ! that I could be a 
painter ! ” 

“ It is truly a great and glorious career,” responded the 
other, catching something of his joy and appreciation, and 
for the instant almost believing that even she, cultured 
favorite of the Court, would have been content with such 
ambitions. “ And it must be admitted, as you have said, 
Pere Rouflet, that in the end, true genius will discover 
and follow its destined path. And what more pleasant 
path to follow, indeed, than that which leads to so much 
fame ? The quiet seclusion in pleasant cloister apart 
from all the unholy ambitions of men, — the absence of 
cares and worries that fret the soul and make life seem, 
at times, one great mistake, — the contented hours given 
ungrudgingly to work, with the certainty of world- 
renowned honor coming at the last, — the freedom from 
even the pleasures which the world is so greedy after, but 
which so often lead to pain and bitterness, — withdrawal 
from the cravings and conceits of earthly love and affec- 
tions, which, though portrayed in song with such sweet 
tenderness, so often fail in their realizations of hoped-for 
happiness — ” 

Pere Rouflet faintly sighed ; and the hour having ex- 
pired, laid the vellum square carefully away in the table 
drawer. 


40 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


“You say well,” he responded. “If care and am- 
bitions of earthly character could anywhere be driven 
from weak humanity, it surely should be so in a quiet 
life like mine. To-morrow let me once more take up 
my labor and with greater diligence, since I have to-day 
accomplished so little.” 



CHAPTER IV. 

Y et, as it happened, not for many days thereafter 
did Pere Rouflet make much more progress in his 
task. Daily, indeed, did he seat the fair Cecile in the 
carved chair, with the well adjusted light falling full 
upon her, and bend himself over the square of vellum 
with ever renewed determination to make better account 
of his hour’s labor ; and yet, each time he found that he 
advanced little beyond the first few faint shades and out- 
lines, so easily was he tempted to lay his brush aside and 
engage in pleasant conversation. For there was so much 
that the young girl wished to learn about Rom.e and Flor- 
ence, — places to which she had never been, and to which, 
under the social restraint of that era, she might scarcely 
ever hope to go, — how the Holy Father looked and what 
he said, — what was the art that had made Cimabue 
and his pupils famous, and what encouragement the 
great Fra Bartolomeo had given, — what curiosities had 
been left in Rome by the barbarians, and whether its 
ruins were equal to the more noted buildings in Paris ; so 
the talk would progress, and so the hour often stole away 
with scarcely line or dot added to the tablet. 


42 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


All this comparison of ancient and modern art and 
architecture, mingled with Pere Rouflet’s renewed recol- 
lection of that sole journey of his life, could not in the 
end fail to bring the conversation round to the building 
wherein they sat. For not only in its day was the Church 
of Sainte-Clotilde one of the proud features of the Pro- 
vince, and therefore well suited to be mentioned with re- 
spect and admiration, even when speaking about the re- 
mains of Rome, but it was almost as Pere Rouflet’s home. 
It was the place where he passed his days with scarcely 
any interruption except from the occasional companion- 
able clang of the bells above him ; the idol of his soul, 
which had grown into his nature as though it were a liv- 
ing sentient being, whispering friendly utterance?, to him 
from every stone ; instinct in each line and carv- 
ing with tales of the different centuries. To speak about 
the church, therefore, was to make him lay his brush 
one side and utter the building’s history and praises, with 
forgetfulness of any present task, and with the mingled 
reverence and partiality we so readily bestow on recollec- 
tions of a well-loved departed friend. 

Those were scarcely the days wherein much outward 
attention was given to any building’s history, to computa- 
tion of the number of centuries it may have stood, or to 
record of those who had ever had power and authority in it. 
The world was too much agog with wars and tumults and 
the various ends and aims of territorial and personal ambi- 
tion, to suffer that many persons should pause even for a 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


43 


little while in their rude and bloodthirsty career, and in- 
terest themselves in the study of the past story of sculp- 
tured stone. Such seemingly useless waste of time could 
hold out little attraction as an especial art or science ; and 
the world would have simply laughed to scorn the thought 
of prosecuting tasks of mere curious lore that could bring 
no visible recompense at the end. To the headstrong 
men of action thick stone walls were interesting for their 
power to withstand mangonel and ram, and loud-mouthed 
bells had their only known use in summoning armed popu- 
lations to defence. The thought of even chance and er- 
rant historic inquiry would be matter of wonderment, and 
it may be, of scolf. And yet, even at that time there were 
some few persons of studious and quiet nature who made 
it the purpose of their lives to gather up learning for 
learning’s sweet sake, — who felt that there could be no in- 
formation upon any topic which might not be worth analy- 
sis and storing carefully away, — who could see in history 
and archaeology a science fraught with gentle and loving 
attraction not only for themselves but for the generations 
to come after them, — who, gazing up at the time-worn 
tower of Sainte-Clotilde and marking the quaint devices 
upon its remaining symbols and ornamentations, could 
feel impelled to turn aside from the blood-staining turbu- 
lence of the outer world and study out the church’s story. 
These few men, scattered here and there, in garret nook- 
ery or in monkish cell, in priestly robes or in the then 
almost as well recognized philosopher’s garb, ceased not 


4 ^ 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


to gather up the scattered chronicles from old parchments 
and from still older legends, weaving the accumulated 
records in new and better ordered shape for future ages. 

Of these few men, Pere Rouflet was the chief ; being not 
only stimulated thereto by his long-sustained love for the 
old church, but having access to quaint musty parchment 
manuscripts, mouldering away around him in hidden cor- 
ners and forgotten or disregarded by all others than him- 
self. Thence he had gathered vast store of facts, legends 
and tradition, which he laid away carefully in his mind 
for his especial pondering. To few, indeed, could he 
speak of them with the hope of awakening any interest 
corresponding to his own, and therefore it had become 
the habit of his life to remain silent and make little com- 
ment about the church’s past days — hoping, meanwhile, 
that the time would come when he might gain some ap- 
preciative listener in the matter of his researches. And 
now that by a few chance words of interest the fair Ce- 
cile betrayed that even she might learn to love the old 
church for its historic past, the floodgates of his memory 
were lifted up, and he would sit by the hour with brush 
poised in hand, laboring not, except as he constantly 
delved into his mind to find additional material for her 
amusement and instruction. 

He told her how that, at first, nearly ten centuries be- 
fore, the foundations of Sainte-Clotilde had been laid by 
Clovis’ pious Queen, in gratitude for victory over the 
heathen Visigoths and in cumulative testimony of the 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


45 


nation’s recent adoption of the Christian faith. How 
that the first foundation stone of the new building was 
laid in place with gorgeous ceremonial and solemn Mass, 
to which were given more than ordinary significance by 
personal attendance of an archbishop and a large retinue of 
priests, sent out from Rome to grace the occasion. How 
that thereby it came about, that not only were the 
rites thus favored by deputized countenance of the Holy 
Father, but also, through priestly example and perfection, 
new converts were brought into the faith and into better 
conformity with the requirements of the Church. How 
that, even after those envoys had returned to Rome, the 
influence of their instructions remained, and perpetually 
increased the throng of converts ; whereby the Church of 
Sainte-Clotilde so prosperously begun became at last 
favored with a Bishop of its own, giving it, thereby, 
supremacy over other churches. How that, for a long 
while thereafter, there was great enthusiasm for the new 
religion, and the plans for the building were continu- 
ally from time to time enlarged, with growth of its im- 
portance ; until Clovis thought in the end to have made it 
almost the rival in magnificence of the basilica of the 
Holy Father himself. 

So far the priestly student of the past told to his 
companion the story of Sainte-Clotilde and felt not 
ashamed. But, with that long-nourished sympathy for 
the edifice, teaching him to bear his portion in its good or 
ill fortunes, it required courage for him to tell what after- 


46 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


wards happened ; there was so much that went amiss, so 
large a record of prosperity sorely interrupted and mak- 
ing narration of it an unpleasant task. For, as it happen- 
ed, scarcely had the church reached half its destined 
height, with only one-third of its projected area filled out 
at that, when Queen Clotilde died, and with her a large 
proportion of the former interest in the work was lost. 
Then fell away, as well, much of the active labor of the 
Archbishop and his satellites ; — all of them weakly yield- 
ing to the base influence of that rude age and suffering 
the good work of the Church to go undirected, while they 
surrounded themselves with comforts that soon rose to 
the scale of luxuries, — giving themselves up, meanwhile, 
entirely to unholy struggle for Court preferment. Then 
came new and bloody wars, not merely with the Visigoths 
but with neighboring Christian nations, and more wars 
successively after those ; so that in the hearts of most 
men there grew up a forgetfulness of the edifice that was 
to have progressed so splendidly and affluently, while any 
consideration at all for its prosperity must have been al- 
most useless, so long as the treasures of the Frankish na- 
tion were wasted in cruelty and carnage rather than in 
the culture of the faith. And so, for two whole genera- 
tions, the rude walls of Sainte-Clotilde slumbered almost 
unregarded in their incompleteness ; and in the end, even 
the plans by which they were to be added to and finished 
were destroyed, or, what was almost the same thing, were 
mislaid and forgotten in some unused monastery library. 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


47 


And from that time, it was a history the same as that 
of many edifices of the period. A season of forgetful- 
ness to build ; and then again, during some prosperous 
years of peace, a revival of enthusiasm. New plans 
with conflicting artists’ conceptions brought out to replace 
those which had been lost, and so a few feet of additional 
height added to the walls. More wars to interrupt, and 
now and then some other short recurring season of tran- 
quility, during which, for a little while, the suspended la- 
bor was renewed. Then other plans again, not in con- 
formity with those which had gone before ; but all the 
same, attracting the admiration of that especial gene- 
ration, which it must be feared, loved its own work much 
too unwisely, inasmuch as it had learned to despise the 
labor well loved in its day, of previous builders. Here a 
little added, and there a little pulled down. The body 
gradually raised by effort of the Court and donation of 
Peter’s pence, and along with it one transept feebly 
sketched out yet scarcely begun. A monastery built close 
against one side, and in the next generation torn away ; 
leaving, however, its long, narrow refectory to be convert- 
ed into cathedral cloisters. The transept at last com- 
pleted after work of nearly a century, and then the corre- 
sponding transept run up in ten years by contribution of 
a returned crusader. Here a line of windows through gift 
of grateful warrior, — there a stone balustrade wrung re- 
morselessly from culprit Jew, — anon a segment of the 
tower added by guilty maid-of-honor turned repentant de- 


48 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


votee in her old age, — again a full set of vestments given 
by monarch anxious to procure atonement in advance, for 
intended perpetration of some gigantic wrong. So the long 
story went on, until at last the church stood finished, — 
though with portions of the earlier erection beginning to 
crumble away before the last stones were laid upon the 
bright new pinnacles — all styles and methods mingling, so 
that to the practiced eye, it might serve as an epitome of 
every age. Here a low range of toothed round arches ; and 
there the arches taught to raise themselves higher and to in- 
terlace, so as to sketch out fragmentary precursors of point- 
ed architecture. Elsewhere a transept with the pointed arch 
raised lofty and free against the roof ; and again, a low 
ceiled chapel, a very spider-web of complicated and per- 
plexing grooves and mouldings. Now rich traceries of 
the most redundant foliated style, and again a period of 
almost unpleasing simplicity. Columns shooting straight 
and uninterrupted to the ceiling in the purest conception 
of the perpendicular, and columns weighted down and 
almost hidden beneath the heavily clustered foliage of a 
later style. Niches and altars and statuary of every cen- 
tury, as the taste of the giver happened to incline. Sculp- 
tured tombs around the wall or in the side chapels, — 
with panels carved simply or in arabesque, according to 
the fashion of the day. The whole, at last, almost a mu- 
seum of architectural effects ; — an affront, perhaps, to any 
one whose straightlaced taste inclined him to perfect uni- 
formity, — a terror and a nightmare to the diverse styles 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


49 


which happened to succeed it, — a thing of beauty and 
the grand development of a loving, trusting faith to all 
who might look upon it with consideration for its glorious 
effects of light and shade, and with memory of the many 
past generations which had labored upon it to the glory of 
their God. 

All this long story of inception, advance and partial 
decay, — of enthusiasm, sacrifice, neglect and wrong, did 
Pere Rouflet tell to the fair Cecile ; not in one day, 
indeed, but in the seances of successive days, during 
which the brush and pencil lay almost all the while idle 
beside the vellum. And there was no lack of attention in 
the listener, for to her the narrative had the freshness and 
consequent charm of novelty. Not that, thereby, her 
heart was turned with any of his spirit of loving zeal to 
churchly matters, making her enamored of those silent 
lights and shadows or inclined at all for cloistered life, as 
sometimes she had heard of maidens of the Court retiring 
from its gayeties and becoming the most devout and rigid 
of sainted abbessess. But it was something like what she 
had never listened to before, — this story of the past, so 
full of diverse human influences, ambitions, self abnega- 
tions and follies ; and as Pere Rouflet went on, she felt 
stealing over her a little of his own distempered fancy 
that every stone or bit of sculpture might have its own 
voice from which, could she but understand the subtle lan- 
guage, she could learn something of the wonders of the 
past. 


50 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


“ You speak of the legends of the church, Pere Rouflet, ’ 
she said. “ Rehearse me, therefore, some of them ; nor 
leave me in the mere empty knowledge that there have 
been such.” 

Pere Rouflet arose. 

‘‘ Then go with me,” he responded. “ The few stories 
that I can tell will lose their charm, mayhap, while idly 
listening to them here. It can be only while gazing up- 
on the things to which they relate, that one can truly feel 
the spirit of them.” 

And so, she following his lead, they passed out of the 
little room and into the body of the vacant church. Down 
one aisle, at first, to where was plain unornamented angle 
of the wall. 

“ The place,” said the Priest, striking with his hand 
upon one side of the angle, '‘where it is said that many 
centuries ago an Abbot was walled in alive. It was said 
that he was worldly-minded, showing it plainly in appro- 
priation of the riches of the Church for prosecution of 
undue pleasures. How true the story may be, cannot 
without new discovery now be told ; seeing that there is 
no formal record of the fact and therefore it lies as yet 
solely in tradition. But you will note how hollow the 
wall sounds beneath the buffeting of my hand, and how 
that here no window is cut through in correspondence 
with the opposite wall, as surely, for fair proportion, there 
ought to be. Therefore it is not impossible that the 
Abbot met his reported fate.” 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


51 


“But to be walled in alive, — to starve to death ! Was it 
not a cruel act, Pere Rouflet ? ” 

“ It may seem so to man,” was the response, “ but who 
shall say that the judgments of Holy Church are incor- 
rect ? He had committed a terrible sin ; and doubtless 
now, if he be released as yet from Purgatory, blesses 
the law of punishment that killed the body that it 
might save the soul.” 

Leading the way onward, the Pere Rouflet ascended the 
stone tov/er, thence after fifty steps or so, passing out upon 
the roof. There, protected by the stone balcony, the two 
could stand in safety ; and gazing down upon the city 
spread around them, could mark all its narrow tortuous 
streets, and observe the wayfarers creeping along upon 
them like ants. And the Priest pointed out the unsightly 
place along the roof where the flying buttresses had fallen 
down ; and he told how that it had been done in former 
siege, when many of the most noted of the city’s defend- 
ers having here taken refuge after the forcing of the walls, 
huge engines had been brought up outside the church, 
and stones been hurled upon the roof crushing in portions 
of it ; and that thereby, the church had been taken and 
the defenders put to the sword. A horrible breach of 
sanctuary which never had occurred before, or could ever 
happen in all time to come ; inasmuch as the leaders of 
the assailing force immediately became excommunicated 
by Holy Church and only made their peace, at the end, 
with great and long continued humiliation, not to speak 
of sacrifice of worldly possessions. 


52 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


Thence once more into the tower of the church, in 
which, still ascending a few steps, they came to where 
among the other smaller bells, hung the great bell that 
had so often summoned the inhabitants, not merely to the 
altar, but to its brave defence. There was a broad 
foliated cross upon the side, and a long Latin inscription 
running around the rim ; an inscription which Pere Rouflet 
owned with a sigh he could not read, seeing that it was in 
a kind of Latin that he made no pretence of knowing ; 
though the Bishop had deciphered and translated it, and 
had ascertained, what indeed everyone might already con- 
jecture, that the inscription was in dedication of the 
chime to Sainte-Clotilde, and in record, moreover, of a 
certain signal triumph of the faith. 

“Which refers, no doubt, to the re-conversion of one 
Melchior, a Jew, — who lived here three centuries ago. He 
had become a Christian, and with good intent, it was sup- 
posed ; though thereby, it must be confessed, that he ob- 
tained much favor and countenance above all others of 
his race. But after a time recanting, he was justly seized, 
and for his sin, was condemned to be burned alive. Then 
it was, that it was put into his heart once more to give ad- 
hesion to the Christian faith, and to seal his convictions 
with gift of these bells.” 

“ Whereby he saved his life, Pere Rouflet ? ” 

“ Nay, not so ; for who could be sure that he might 
not, when safe from his bonds, recant again ? But mer- 
cifully his doom was changed from burning to strangula- 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


53 


tion, whereby he had not only no time given for relapse 
but enjoyed less painful death.” 

Somewhat startled, indeed, Cecile looked furtively 
ascant at the good Priest ; feeling herself not able, for 
the moment, to realize how far he felt any actual con- 
viction of the Jew’s conversion and the Church’s mercy ; 
or, on the other hand, how much of all he said was mere 
thoughtless expression of habitual doctrine. Those were 
not days in which even fair womanhood would be unable 
to look unflinchingly upon deeds of merciless severity ; 
yet there seemed something amiss in the Priest’s spoken 
sentiments, a crude and unnatural mingling of forgiving 
grace and cruel mockery. But they were days, as well, 
in which the serious utterances of the Church could not 
be gainsaid by lay opinion ; and as she gazed into Pere 
Rouflet’s wan face and noted its kind and gentle expres- 
sions, its earnest revelation of inward truth and goodness, 
and thought that, however she might be startled for the 
moment, she should not presume to judge differently from 
him, since surely his views must be altogether true, she 
sighed, and tried no longer to speculate upon subjects of 
right and wrong so intricate and puzzling in their va- 
riances. 

Down from the tower into the vestibule of the church, 
where stood a rudely sculptured efflgy in memory of a stout 
old bishop who had gone to Palestine with the earliest 
crusaders, and who, with steel plate on his heart and mitre 
upon his head, cross upon his armor and sword by his 


54 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


side, had stood in the front ranks of the Christian hosts, 
and with well-swung battle-axe had cut down seven Sara- 
cens ; not forgetting to mutter over each, while felling him, 
a sacerdotal absolution. Then to the north transept, 
which had been built as an atonement by penitent baron 
who had slain his father, and who, his sin at last forgiven, 
now slept in peace. So onward to a little side chapel, the 
walls of which were thickly carved with sculptured tablets 
and the floor with plain slabs, some of which were almost 
illegible with the wearing away by the feet of many gene- 
rations. 

“ The resting-place, here, of the Courtrai line, — for 
centuries, as you may have heard, a family mighty in mat- 
ters both of State and Church, — even now still power- 
ful as one of the great and honored lines of the king- 
dom.” 

Cecile looked up at the Priest with quick, pen- 
etrating glance, as seeking to read his thoughts, and 
whether he spoke with any knowledge or subtle intent. 
His calm, grave, thoughtful expression seemed to satisfy 
her, and she said : 

“ Tell me about these, also, Pere Rouflet. Surely there 
must be some history or legend attached to them, as to 
many others ? ” 

“A long and exalted line, indeed, — that is their re- 
cord. Ever foremost in acts of chivalry as well as in 
glorious services of statemanship — known in every gene- 
ration for achievements in the field and for the distinction 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


55 


with which they have upheld the King’s authority as hon- 
ored envoys to foreign Courts, x\ccredited beyond these 
qualities with capacity for bitter hatred against such as 
may oppose them ; in instance of which, men now speak 
of their long-sustained enmity towards the rival race of 
the Martelles.” 

“ Tell me about that, also, Pere Rouflet. There must 
be some legend connected with that enmity. Indeed, it 
seems as though I had dimly heard as much ; though with 
such indefinite indistinctness that it composes itself but 
roughly in my mind.” 

“ Cross then with me to the other side,” said Pere Rou- 
flet,“ and I can tell it to you all the better ; being able there 
to point out how the two families so long at feud, cease 
not to wage it even in death. See ! here are the Mar- 
telles — side by side beneath the pavement ; but with the 
whole nave betwixt them and their enemies. I can sup- 
pose that Jew and Christian would not sleep well together, 
seeing that the former might be visited after death by 
fiends, and their bodies aroused to painful writhing, to 
the sore discomfort of their near neighbors. But it is sad 
to think that men of the same Christian faith should hide 
away forever ; each with his own and in unfriendly dis- 
tance from any others.” 

“ Yet why, Pere Rouflet — ” 

“ It was a thousand years ago ; even at the time 
when the first stone of the church was laid by the 
pious^ zealous hands of Queen Clotilde. The Court were 


56 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


around her, — reverent and filled with faith ; — all but one 
Ebroin de Martelle, who, still attaching himself to the ser- 
vice of the heathen gods, made loud acclaim of his belief 
therein, in intended sacrilege of the holy rites then pro- 
gressing. For this was he well rebuked by Clovis, and 
put to instant silence, — preferring naturally to remain 
speechless thereafter, rather than to lose his life. So far, it 
was well, and no further disturbance need have happened ; 
had not Grimoald de Courtrai, in rash, impetuous zeal, 
made a quarrel with Ebroin de Martelle upon the spot, and, 
before they could be torn apart, carried the affair to the giv- 
ing and receiving of wounds. It happened that while there 
they fought before the King, their blood fell upon the 
foundation-stone and upon the Archbishop’s vestments. 
And for this sacrilege, it was said that a curse fell upon 
both the Houses. Whether it was uttered by the Arch- 
bishop, or, as it has been sometimes alleged, imposed by 
Sainte-Clotilde herself, I cannot tell. It is enough that 
the curse fell upon them, and has remained to the present 
day.” 

“ And that curse, good Pere Rouflet ? ” 

“ It was to the effect that enmity should reign between 
the two families of Martelle and Courtrai until the end 
of time ; — showing itself constantly in bitter strife, so 
that each successive generation should thereafter carry on 
the feud with bloodshed. And so, indeed, it has been, as 
the record abundantly proves ; — as I myself know, hav- 
ing traced the history of each family unto its source.” 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


57 


“ And there ? ” 

“ I find that there has been no generation in which a 
Martelle has not fallen by hand of a Courtrai, or a Cour- 
trai by that of a Martelle. This has been their punish- 
ment for disturbance of holy rite of consecration. While, 
inasmuch as it was the pagan Ebroin de Martelle who most 
greatly offended, it has been noted that to his line more 
especially, this church has ever brought ill fortune. It is 
said that the Abbot walled up alive yonder was collateral 
of that line ; though that should count for nothing, seeing 
that the story may be altogether untrue. But there was 
a Martelle who was thrown from the tower three centuries 
ago ; and one, before his time, upon whom an ill-placed 
corbel fell, crushing him to death. And among those who 
had made this place their defence in civil war, at the 
time when right of sanctuary was violated, there were 
four Martelles, all of whom were put to death upon the 
spot.” 

“ A hard fate, surely, Pere Rouflet, for the sin of a 
brawling ancestor, and therefore not easy to be believed. 
May it not be some chance that has governed it all ? In 
good truth, throughout every generation everywhere, all 
families give of their sons to the gods of war.” 

“ What then, however, shall we say of Conrad de 
Martelle, who three or more centuries ago, went with 
King Philip to the Holy Land ; and there slew so many of 
the Infidels, that his fame reached France long before he 
himself returned to enter upon a warrior’s enjoyment of 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


S8 

it ? Surely here was so much of goodly service to Holy 
Church, that he should have been allowed to go free from 
the olden curse. Yet before he had been home a month, 
lo ! he slew in trivial quarrel the Duke Pierre de Courtrai. 
For this he was assessed in heavy sums and forfeited half 
his honors. See ! here is Conrad de Martelle’s tomb. With 
what was left after the fine to the King was paid, he 
built the clerestory of the church, and beneath it was 
built this vault for his remains. Above it, as you may 
see, in dedication to Sainte-Clotilde, hangs the sword 
with which he smote the Saracens. Would you not 
think that after such largely imposed fine to the King and 
his noble charities to the Church, and his faithful sword 
so dedicated as votive offering, the curse might at last 
have been stayed ? And yet the coming years showed all 
the same that it could not be.” 

“ Reach me down the sword of the brave Conrad de 
Martelle, Pere Rouflet,” the other said. “ I would fain 
behold it nearer.” 

The Priest complied, lifting the sword from the brack- 
ets where it lay and placing it in her hands. A woman’s 
whim to toy with things not meant for them, — he thought 
— but still, he obeyed her. It was a great two-handed 
sword, so heavy that Cecile could scarcely hold it, but 
was obliged to let one end drop to the pavement. 

“ It is the sword with which he slew the Infidels, Pere 
Rouflet ; perchance also, the same with which he smote 
the Duke Pierre de Courtrai. It may be, therefore, that the 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


59 


blessing upon it for its former righteous use had fallen 
away by reason of its latter foul purpose.” 

“ Rather should its first good consecrate the latter 
evil,” rejoined the Priest. “ The destruction of single 
man, however highly placed, should not outweigh the 
benefit conferred by putting many hundred unbelievers 
out of the world.” 

“ But see ! The blade will not now leave the scabbard, 
Pere Rouflet.” 

“ It is rusted therein. And what then ? ” 

“ Whether it be rust or not, the fact remains, good 
Pere Rouflet, that the blade will not loosen from the 
scabbard,” she rejoined, once more in vain essaying the 
task of withdrawing it. “ What of that, you would ask ? 
Why, only this, indeed ; that I should look upon it as an 
omen that the feud is at an end and, that the curse 
has fallen void at last ; since sword of Martelle can no 
more be drawn at beck of Courtrai. An omen which I 
would well desire to believe and trust in, Pere Rouflet ; 
seeing that I am Cecile de Courtrai, and that he to whom I 
am betrothed is the Count Toys de Martelle.” 



CHAPTER V. 

H earing this, the Priest became pale and flushed 
by turns. For a moment he stood speechless 
against one of the great pillars, wondering within himself 
how he should have spoken so unguardedly to one whom 
he knew not. 

“I have done wrong,” he said at length, “in having 
touched so freely upon matters about which, it may 
be, it becomes me not to speak at all. Thereby I may 
have revealed secrets which should not be told, and may 
have sown in your heart distrust of a future that should 
be bright and prosperous to the end, despite all evil prog- 
nostications. Those stories that I have rehearsed may, after 
all, be mere matters of tradition, supported only by chance 
coincidence ; so that — ” 

“You have done no wrong, Pere Rouflet,” she said 
with pleasant smile, and holding out her hand to him in 
token of forgiveness or friendship, as he might choose to 
look upon it. “ What has been said, I knew in part be- 
fore ; for it is no secret, indeed, that the Martelles and 
Courtrais for centuries past have been in no amicable re- 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


6l 

lation towards each other. I knew, as well, that with the 
story of that hate, there were traditions mingled, and old 
tales of prophesies and omens all in due time fulfilled ; 
and of these, also, I might with slight inquiry have 
learned everything that you have told me. But why 
should I care to do so, or why having now heard them 
should I give anxious heed to them, seeing that the long 
quarrel has at last been healed, and there remains only kind 
and gentle intercourse, one party with the other ? Let us re- 
turn to whence we came, Pere Rouflet, and 1 will tell you all.” 

The Priest led the way, and together they repaired to 
the studio, feeling little desire for further explora- 
tion of the church. Reaching the studio, Pere Rouflet 
silently resumed his seat by the window, and Cecile her 
carved chair in front of him. There, with the sunshine 
pleasantly illumining with brighter lustre her golden locks, 
she toyed with her rings for a moment in listless spirit of 
embarrassment, and then commenced : 

“ Think not, good Pere Rouflet, that I would bear a 
grudge for anything you have said. It has been my fault 
that, for so many days, I have sat here and have not dis- 
closed myself to you. It came by accident, since, at the 
very first, I did not mention who I was ; — forgetting after- 
wards to do so, or perhaps not knowing but that you had 
already gained more intimate knowledge of me. After that, 
it would have been a difficult matter, in sudden and unex- 
pected bluntness of speech, to utter my name with inquiry 
of whether you had ever heard it or not. Therefore I 


62 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


now rather hail with pleasure the chance that gives me 
opportunity to disclose myself.” 

“Proceed, therefore,” Pere Rouflet said, noting that 
for the moment she hesitated. 

“ I would speak, and yet I scarcely know how,” she re- 
sponded. “ The story of the making up of the long 
quarrel between the Martelles and the Courtrais, — but I 
wonder, indeed, that you had not already heard of it, 
since the reconciliation has already been of many months’ 
duration, and, at the first, gave great occasion for wonder- 
ment to the Court.” 

Pere Rouflet raised his head and cast a quiet glance above 
and around the little -studio, slightly spreading his palms 
as though to compass a small area. The action was of 
itself significant of his limited sphere of observation, but 
in addition, he spoke: 

“ It is, perhaps, the lot of those who would explore the 
secrets of past centuries not to know those of their own ; 
to drag to light the small details of what, even at its 
happening, it may be, had not attracted note, and yet, 
to keep the eyes closed against the stir of more im- 
portant incidents passing all around them. And what op- 
portunity for news from Court or of action in the world 
at large has the quiet priest in this his seclusion among 
the implements of his art ? ” 

“Tru-e, Pere Rouflet ; and therefore I see that I must 
tell the story from the very first. A difficult thing to 
speak of, as I have premised ; seeing that it must be, as 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


63 


well, the story of my betrothal to the Count de Mar- 
telle. It was naturally at the Court that I first met him. 
I was no maid of honor, then ; being at the time too 
young for such promotion, — a simple girl, only just grown 
up, in fact, and' brought to Court to look upon some passing 
ceremonial. And it was there that I saw Loys, — he being 
then almost as young as I, and without his knighthood or 
even expectation of it for years to come. A mere, pretty 
Page, indeed, and scarcely with the first down upon his 
cheeks, — with long curls hanging over his neck, and an or- 
namented dagger at his side for sole weapon, — such a 
youth, indeed, as now is my brother Arnulf, whom you 
must have noticed in our company at our first coming 
here. And it came to pass that Loys, mere Page as he 
was, and myself, an unformed damsel, took more than 
passing observation of each other, as such things will 
happen, and so at last were drawn together by mutual 
attraction. Only for that day, indeed, and not speaking 
one to the other ; through youthful shyness, in part, and 
more especially, perhaps, for very lack of opportunity, see- 
ing that the Court ceremonial was not long, and that at its 
close I was taken back to my own home. But next year 
it was the same, a similar occasion bringing us together ; 
and then it was, that being older, we had more courage, 
and to each other spake. Even then I noticed how there 
was wonderment, and, upon the part of some, display of 
wrath ; for, at the Court, the Courtrais and Martelles 
always stood on different sides, glowering at each other 


64 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


from far apart, even as in this church they lie apart in 
death ; and it was considered that, young as we both 
were, we should esteem ourselves old enough to have due 
cognizance and recollection of the ancestral feud, and to 
give one to the other only scornful looks, if we so much 
as looked at all. But how, after all, Pere Rouflet, should 
mere hereditary wrong compel us, so youthful as we 
were, to resist the voice of nature ? We saw, — we drew 
together, — and we spoke ; uttering words of commonplace 
import, indeed, but with an intonation and thrill of voice 
that must have betrayed our feelings. Wrong as it may 
have seemed to both our Houses, I must believe that it 
could not have been the first time in the world that such 
a thing has happened. You have never read tales of 
love, Pere Rouflet, nor in your seclusion given thought to 
love at all. That, I well know.” 

The Priest bowed his head in silence, an expression of 
sadness for the moment flickering across his face, then 
passing off and leaving behind it merely the customary 
impassive gaze. 

‘‘ Therefore, you will scarcely understand me, when I 
say that in our Court there are many quaint tales of love, 
repeated often for our entertainment, and certain of them 
set to verse. And of these, there are some which speak 
of ill-advised love-meetings in other lands, between such 
as through ancestral feud, should not even look the one 
upon the other. These I have often heard ; and it 
seemed strange that, while the whole Court were wont to 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


6s 


compassionate these lovers, and all the current of the 
song or story would run in reprobation of the foolish 
quarrel that separated such true affection, in our own life 
there pould be no similar toleration of romance, but that all 
our enmities, however sillily begun, must be maintained to 
the bitter end, with every ill consequence. Yet so it was. 
The Court could weep at the sufferings of lovers about 
whom Boccaccio tells ; and yet the next minute could 
scowl and lay their hands on sword because Toys de 
Martelle and I were not able to refrain from looking wist- 
fully at each other.” 

“ It seems unjust, indeed ; but all the same it is the 
usual hard way of the world, and we can with assurance 
look for nothing else.” 

“ Doubtless you are right, Pere Rouflet. — Well, so it 
went on, and so it might have continued to the end ; and 
we could never more have spoken to each other, but 
rather have grown up apart and at the last, perhaps have 
learned even to hate. But all at once the King came 
forward. He had heard the whisperings and seen the 
glowering looks, and now he intervened for peace. It 
was not well, — he said, — that the old bitter feud should 
longer be carried on. Enough blood already had been 
spilt because a thousand years or so before, two brawlers 
had chosen to disturb the founding of a church. It was 
not seemly that families in a Christian state should cut 
each others’ throats for such light cause. Were they so 
bent upon bloodshed, let them depart and fight the Turks, 


66 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


xnd boast at their coming home of the number of infidel 
heads they had caused to roll in the dust, rather than 
stay at Court and make murder of each other.” 

“ And what said they at that ? ” 

“ For a time they said nothing, Pere Rouflet. They 
looked at each other and bit the lip and wrinkled the 
brow, — as men, and even women for the matter of that, 
will do when sore perplexed ; but yet they said not a 
word. Then spoke out the King again, ‘ I will no 
longer have such unseemly brawling. The next of either 
family that does any such murderous deed, — whether 
it be a Martelle that slays a Courtrai or a Courtrai that 
kills a Martelle, him will I hang aloft, as though he were 
a heathen Bohemian, and with as short a shrift. And 
that there may no longer be temptation for outrage, let 
the young Toys de Martelle now be betrothed to the 
damsel Cecile de Courtrai, — to be wedded when they shall 
be of more mature age. Their lands adjoin ; and there- 
fore, were other reasons wanting, it were a proper alliance.’ 
So said the King, and so was it then arranged.” 

“ And all consented ? ” 

“ All, — seeing that it was forced upon them and there 
could be no escape from it. Nor, let it be said, was it 
greatly against their will ; since so many of them felt 
the foolishness of the olden quarrel and how that they 
ought not have cared to keep it up at all, only that there 
had seemed no authority to check it, and the pride of 
each prevented overtures for peace. Therefore, all 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


67 


clasped hands alter so many centuries of warfare, and 
there was great joy at Court and much formal celebra- 
tion of the pleasant reconciliation. And so, good Pere 
Rouflet, you must see that all your cruel prophecies for 
the future will come to naught.” 

“ So I trust, most truly. And surely there should be a 
time at last for every curse or ill-omen to have run its 
course.” 

“ And doubtless, Pere Rouflet, even the dead Martelles 
and Courtrais will now rest more peacefully in their 
graves. It must, perforce, be so, indeed ; seeing that I 
myself one day must join my husband’s kin upon the 
further side of the nave, and thereby break up forever the 
unchristian separation between the rival Houses.” 

Thus pleasingly discoursing, in mingled narration of 
the past, and in bright anticipations of the future, the 
fair Cecile prattled on. Telling moreover, how that being 
so youthful at the time, she had been sent to convent 
retreat, there to remain until the time came for her 
appearance as Maid of Honor at the Court. How that the 
young Toys de Martelle had accompanied her to the con- 
vent gate, with retinue made up of both families. How 
that then Toys, stripping off the gay, effeminate dress of 
page, had put on the rougher attire of esquire ; and, under 
reputable chieftainship, had at once departed in search of 
adventure, in order that he might gain the accolade of 
knighthood. How that before many months had elapsed 
there had come news of his brave exploits before Mantua ; 


68 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


whereby he had won the golden spurs, and thenceforward 
had title to stand beside instead of behind the King. 
How that then had ensued many months wherein he 
remained unheard from and unheralded ; and how that at 
at last it was reported that he had been slain in foray. How 
that thereupon there was much sadness felt at Court, while 
she learning the bitter tidings, which for a while they with- 
held from her, had mourned truly and deeply, refusing to 
be comforted, and thinking that she would resolve thence- 
forward to make the convent her home. How that the 
news had been false, seeing that Sir Loys had not been slain, 
but had been merely overpowered in a foray by superior 
force, and taken captive only after long and brave resist- 
ance. How that after many months, the tidings of his 
captivity had been received and his ransom paid ; where- 
upon, not many days before, he had returned, somewhat 
crippled for the time in matter of worldly goods, in- 
asmuch as the ransom was a weighty one for knight of 
his quality and position, but for all that, safe and unhurt 
and with honors thickly crowning him. How that there was 
great joy at his return, not merely among the Martelles, 
but among the Courtrais as well, showing how perma- 
nent and sincere was the reconciliation between the two 
once rival families ; none among all her kinsmen showing 
greater joy than her young brother Arnulf, who loved Sir 
Loys more than all men else, and hoped to follow him to 
the field some day, and in like manner change the page’s 
dress for knightly armor. 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


69 


Thus Cecile now disclosed the secret of her heart. 
Not, indeed, telling these latter circumstances all at 
once, as she had more sedately made her earlier narra- 
tive ; but speaking day by day, a little here and a little 
there, as the mood chanced to seize her. Meanwhile Pere 
Rouflet from having been an idle listener resumed his 
labors, well contented now to encourage her to conversa- 
tion, since thereby he gained so much more readily than 
before, the needful knowledge and perception of the 
sweet expressions so abundant in her varied, animated 
face. Finding, thus, less difficulty in his art than be- 
fore, so responsive and illustrative had her nature now 
become, — so free, at last, from the earlier reticence and 
embarrassments that she had betrayed. 

For now at last, so greatly was her confidence in Pere 
Rouflet established, — perhaps gaining force by reason of 
her own revelations to him, — that without stint she gave 
converse freely and from her whole heart, disclosing all 
her thoughts and speculations, her girlish vanities and her 
more womanly ambitions with as ready and innocent 
spirit of confession as she might have manifested before 
the most intimate of her companions. The torrent of 
her pretty prattle running on from day to day in constant 
and unchecked course ; and somehow, in whatever direc- 
tion turned, ever coming back to the subject of the real 
and ardent affection between Sir Toys and herself. 

“ And indeed, good Pere Rouflet,” she would say, 
“ I know that it is true I must have loved him from the 


70 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


very first, so soon and suddenly did his face and figure 
become fixed in my memory and regard.” 

“ It is as it should have been,” the Priest responded. 
“ And surely it is a goodly thing for a young heart 
to find its true resting-place at the moment of its first 
timid essay at flight.” 

“ And he, too, Pere Rouflet, — he can have never loved 
anyone except myself. That is to say, never with true 
love. Young nobles of the Court may perchance have 
their idle fancies ; — that thing we cannot help but know. 
Yet that is of little consequence after all, is it not so? 
For such errant fancies can never be the real passion of 
the heart. There was one time while I was in the Court, 
when they say he fell for a time beneath the spell of 
beauty other than my own, — of a beauty of low degree, 
indeed, and which of a surety he might never think about 
or even look at, excepting from a distance. But soon he 
cast aside all thought of her, — considering only his duty 
to myself. Perchance it may have been harder than I 
realize for him to resist her blandishments, but you can- 
not know as I do, how very strong he is in purpose and 
self-control. Therefore he came back to me from where, 
indeed, he had never wandered except in thought ; and I 
remained as ever, his first and only real cherished love. 
Is not that a fortunate thing to be able to say, Pere 
Rouflet ? ” 

“ A very fortunate thing, indeed,” the Priest could not 
but answer. And so, from one thing to another by easy 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


71 


gradations, she went on; speaking always about the 
Knight, his bravery, his manly beauty, his constant love 
for herself. — How that throughout all that war in which 
he had served, and in which by force of numbers he had 
been taken prisoner, he had remained unhurt though ever 
in the thickest of the fight and performing such prodigies 
of valor, that his name had been constantly mentioned 
by the King with approbation. How that at the Court, 
whether as page or knight, there had been no one upon 
whom the Maids of Honor had so unceasingly cast loving 
glances ; and how that he had constanly resisted them all, 
by reason of his unbounded faithfulness to herself. All 
this idle prattle, running along in steady stream of girlish 
confidence was very pleasant to Pere Rouflet’s ears ; 
though half the time, it might be, he understood little 
about the subject of her talk. Day by day, however, he 
grew thereby to know her better, and as though he had 
seen her for many years ; and as the portrait slowly 
developed itself into form upon the vellum, so did it 
seem as though his intimacy with the inner life of her 
thoughts and feelings became perpetually increased. 

So for a while. Then suddenly it seemed as though 
she had become less vivacious in spirit, — more reserved 
in speech. Pondering greatly upon this, Pere Rouflet 
recalled that it was a mood which had been stealing 
over her for some time past, though with such quiet 
unobtrusive step, that, at the first, he had failed to give it 
any heed. Something, too, had gone from the lively and 


72 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


pleasant animation of her face, so that she grew more 
quiet in expression, and at times even saddened; while once 
for a moment, he thought he saw tears glistening in her 
eyes. It might have been only his fancy, — for the next 
instant they were gone. However that might be, the in- 
crease of sadness was indisputable ; until at last there 
would be times when she would sit listless and silent, no 
longer stimulated into cheeriness by her recollections of 
the past or her anticipations of the future. There came 
at length a morning when Pere Rouflet determined that 
he would question her, and, if possible, gain from her a 
renewal of confidence ; so deeply did her unhappiness 
begin to infect his own cheerfulness, and so often does it 
happen that confession to another takes away half the 
sting of pain. 

Laying his brush aside, he paused and silently gazed 
into her face, uncertain how he might begin. But it 
was not necessary that he should speak at all, for she 
read his full expression of inquiry, and felt that it met 
her willingness to seek for counsel. 

“There was one day not long ago, Pere Rouflet,” she 
said, “ that I almost envied your quiet life, so far removed 
is it from care and agitations, even those of love. It 
seemed to me, then, that there was expression of doubt 
upon your face ; as though you believed that love, at 
least, of all human passions did not have its cares, or, 
that if it did, its consolations must outweigh them. So 
perhaps, they do ; yet none the less are the cares, when- 
ever they come, very hard to bear.” 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


73 


“ And what now, therefore ” 

“ I have told you often, good Pere, how pleasantly the 
long quarrel between the Martelles and Courtrais was 
made up with joyful marks of reconciliation, — how sure 
I felt that the new era of good-will would last forever. 

And now, — now I greatly doubt ” 

“ Has there been open quarrel since ? ” 

“ Not open quarrel, but much secret muttering, and dark 
glances the one side against the other ; showing that the 
old wound was poorly healed and only on the surface, 
and was ready to break out again with slight occasion. 
Alas ! that even the power of Kings cannot command 
the fretful hearts of subjects ! ” 

“ And that occasion of which you speak, — has it 
arisen ? ” 

“ Not from anything that either side has done to the 
other, indeed ; for there is still observance of outward 
peace. But it seems as though the time had come when 
their views conflict, and the one party wishes to maintain 
what the other desires should be undone. This then it is, 
in brief. The Duke of Mantua is at Court, upon a visit. 
He has seen and would fain wed me. To that intent, he 
has gained the influence and good wishes of the King, who 
thinks that it is an alliance which would bind France 
more closely to foreign powers ; and therefore he would 
have me break my plighted word to Sir Toys. In which 
design he is already supported by all the Courtrais, who 
look for their advancement from what they consider will 


74 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


be my own, and would urge upon me a betrayal of my 
faith. To this, it is assumed, the Martelles will not listen ; 
and therefore it is that the old quarrel might easily 
break out anew.” 

“This Duke of Mantua,— is he a good and brave 
knight and gentleman ? ” 

“ None more so, Pere Rouflet. Kind and gentle in 
manner, and of exceeding great respect. A worthy alli- 
ance for any one who was not otherwise given in affec- 
tion. But with me, all his rank and worthiness count for 
nothing, since now I love my true Knight Sir Toys and 
him only will I wed.” 

“ And therefore,” rejoined the other, “it only remains 
for yourself to be firm and constant, and all will yet be well. 
Let the great Duke flourish his power and his titles in your 
face, as he may ; what should it avail him ? I take it for a 
truth that however the King may wish, he cannot go back 
from his royal word. Which being so, you have only to be 
resolute and enduring for a while, and this trouble will of 
itself subside, and with it will disappear all further thought 
of reawakening the olden strifes. Is it not so ? ” 

“ It must be so, Pere Rouflet. Doubtless you are 
right. Therefore will I be constant to the end.” 

She sighed, while speaking ; and strove to brighten up 
in spirits, as one who had obtained relief. Yet so heavily 
did the cloud continue to lower, that the Pere Rouflet still 
saw its presence, and knew that her heart was not yet at 
ease; and he felt that she might not yet have told him all her 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


75 


trouble. For none the more than before did she seem to 
look forward hopefully to the future. And now it happened 
that a new fancy seized her ; for there came sudden and 
greatly intensified interest in the beauty of the portrait. 
For a while she had displayed only partial and listless care 
respecting it, so perfect was her confidence that the paint- 
er’s art would avail to make the work everything it should 
be. But now her mood regarding it had changed ; and con- 
stantly she urged Pere Rouflet to spare no exertion or 
trick of art to make the picture a still more glorious success 
than anything he had hitherto achieved. 

“ If I appear to you beautiful,” she said, “ make me 
still more beautiful on the tablet, — only looking to it that 
the likeness be not impaired. There may be defects that 
can be remedied and yet will leave it not less like me, — 
there may be graces that can be improved upon, with 
equal justice to the resemblance. Give to the task all 
the power of your highest art, — dream about it, if possi- 
ble, — think about it even at the altar’s foot. Only be 
sure that it is sufficiently beautiful, yet lifelike as well.” 

“ Having either quality, how could it fail to have both ? ” 
Pere Rouflet responded, — for the first time in his life ven- 
turing upon compliment. 

“ Let it be more than beautiful — more than lifelike,” 
she insisted. “ I would have such a picture created, that 
Sir Loys seeing its abounding graces, will transfer to me 
in imagination, whatever other qualities of excellence I 
do not have, and will thereby believe so trustingly in my 
loveliness, that never again ” 


?6 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


“ Never again what, my child ? ” the other said. For, 
at that moment she hesitated, her color coming and going 
in alternate flashes of white and red. Once more, and 
this time without doubt, Pere Rouflet saw the tears stand- 
ing in her eyes. 

“ Never again,” she finally said, with faint accent, 
“will his love depart from me.” 

With that, she bent her face between her hands, and 
wept aloud. 



r 


}■ 

\ 

v' CHAPTER VI. 

j 

V 

P ERE ROUFLET arose, and leaning over where she 
sat, essayed to comfort her. He felt that now, at 
last, the time had come in which she would throw off all 
^ further display of reticence, and tell the whole story of her 
troubles ; and that thereby, perhaps, he might gain such 
intimate knowledge of her feelings as to be able to impart 
true consolation. 

“Tell me all," he said. “I ask it not in spirit of 
inquisitiveness. But it may be that, — poor in worldly 
knowledge as I am, — I can aid you." 

It scarcely needed those few words to persuade her, — 
so resolute had she now become to let nothing of her 
trouble remain unrevealed. And so, — her trusting nature 
not differing from what it had always been, but simply 
her power of concealment coming to an end, — she told 
the whole story of her wrong. It was not merely that 
the Duke of Mantua had desired to wed her, and to that 
intent had gained the consent and influence of the King ; 
and thereby had encouraged her kin, with hope of family 
advancement, to covet a discontinuance of their late 


78 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


league of peace. Such matter was indeed of alarming 
import ; yet even that trouble she could afford to despise, 
and doubtless, in the end, could trample down, through 
the power of her true and constant affection for Sir Loys, 
were he — would he in turn remain faithful unto her. 
But therein, — alas ! therein was the very wretchedness 
of all ! She had once told Pere Rouflet, — surely he 
must remember, — how that while still at the convent, it 
was said that the Knight had been attracted by a face as 
fair, perhaps, as her own. The face of a maiden of the 
people, indeed ; of such diversity of condition that he 
must perforce stand aloof and admire it only from the 
distance and seclusion of his higher rank. Perhaps that 
young girl might not ever have known about his admira- 
tion of her ; it was certain that he had prudently held 
himself aloof from her acquaintance. It had been sup- 
posed that, all this while, his heart had not been touched, 
— that he had felt mere passing admiration for that young 
girl, forgetting her almost as soon as he had seen her. And 
yet, as it now seemed, it might have been more than that. 

“ And oh ! Pere Rouflet, shall I tell the reason why ? ” 

“ Speak without fear,” he answered. 

“ That beautiful picture of Sainte-Clotilde, over the 
high altar, — did you not say that it was copied from a 
living face ? It may have been from some one who had 
resembled the girl whom he had loved, — it may even 
have been from the girl herself. Whichever it may have 
been, what matter ? For I fear the sad truth remains, 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


79 


that it is a face reminding him of her, and thereby, 
perhaps, recalling to him a love for her which may have 
once existed in his heart ; unknown to her, perchance, 
and which, for himself, he may have vainly imagined he 
had long since crushed.” 

“ And yet, why do you imagine all this ? ” 

“ You ask me why, Pere Rouflet ? Because of late his 
manner towards me has so greatly changed. He will 
speak lovingly to me as of old, — sometimes more lovingly 
than ever ; yet in evident disguise of some alteration in 
his heart’s affections, and I cannot help but feel that his 
words have not their former tone of truth. He will look 
upon my face with gaze of admiration, yet I can instinc- 
tively decipher his expression and see plainly that it 
comes not from a real vital prompting of the soul. And 
he is silent and fraught with fretful moods, as never be- 
fore ; often drowned in thoughts, the nature of which 
he will not impart to me ; turning the matter off with 
careless laugh, if I undertake to press him.” 

“ All this—” 

“ All this, you will say, is but the consciousness of the 
existence of the King’s plans against him, in favoring the 
Duke ; — a feeling that all is not right as concerns our- 
selves, thereby putting anxiety into his heart, and, as 
generally will happen in such a matter, changing the 
outward habit of the mind. So I first thought, or rather 
tried to think. But what will you say when I tell you 
that yesterday. Sir Loys being at my side, and, as so often 


So 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


of late, immersed in gloomy thought, seemed unaware for 
a moment of where he was or who had spoken to him ; 
but, when I addressed him, turned in vacant, forgetful 
manner, and called me ‘ Manon ? ' Me, who always 
hitherto hath been to him only ‘ sweet Cecile ? ’ And 
when I heard him so speak, the chill of death sank into 
my heart ; for I remembered that such was the name by 
which you had spoken of the fair original of the altar 
painting. And as though this were not enough, each day 
he comes alone into the church and passes many moments 
gazing up at the picture, as if it brought back to him 
some regretful recollections of long past, and it may 
be, happier days. In all that, is there not some indica- 
tion of the waning of his love ? See ! even now, as you 
glance through that little pane of glass in the studio door, 
you can observe Sir Loys standing before the picture, 
and devouring, with greedy gaze, its every line and 
impress.” 

Truly enough, as following her suggestion Pere Rou- 
flet peeped through the little pane, so arranged that it 
could be looked through outwardly but not in reverse, he 
saw the Knight standing near by and gazing up thought- 
fully and with saddened expression at the picture of 
Sainte-Clotilde. A deep settled frown was upon his face, 
and, as once before, he remained nervously biting the 
ends of his long mustachios. These are commonly indi- 
cations of anger, indeed, but he was not angry. It was 
merely the manner whereby a strong man will often 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


8l 


endeavor to conceal remorse or grief. Therefore, when 
Pere Rouflet turned again to his companion, it was with 
the conviction that she was right in believing that all was 
not well. Yet he would, if possible, comfort her. 

“ Surely it should not be a matter of much concern,” 
he said, “ that Sir Loys gazes so long at a mere work of 
art. Such fancy is not unknown, — has heretofore been 
of wide experience and doubtless will often be so again, 
and that without injury or corruption to the heart. May 
it not be that it is to the taste of the mind, only, that he 
thereby appeals ? I have spoken to you about Italy, 
the home of art. I speak whereof I know, when I tell you 
that in both Rome and Florence there are many stories 
and traditions of men of great reputation and conse- 
quence, who have had their minds taken captive and 
their senses enthralled by beauteous creations of the 
artists, so as to stand before them for many hours every 
day, and feast their eyes upon what was so pleasing to 
them. But each one, at the last, has broken from the 
spell and returned to his own mind again, with heart and 
judgment unimpaired. So might it even be with mine 
own self, let me now say. For I must needs confess 
what I have hitherto not told to any one, that at times 
I am overcome with such childlike admiration of 
that creation of my own, that when there seems no fear 
of observation by others, I stand for long periods to- 
gether gazing upon it, even as Sir Loys now looks up. 
Would it be just,” he continued, with color somewhat 


82 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


heightened and voice slightly repressed, “ if, seeing this, 
there should be any who charged me with earthly love 
for the fair original of the picture ? ” 

“ It is your own, — it is your right, even your duty to 
look upon it with admiration.” 

“Yes, in truth ; with admiration. But who shall under- 
take to say that my outward admiration goes further than 
is seemly, and that it thereby becomes love ? And if 
not with myself, how much the less with Sir Loys ? 
Therefore, strive not to think more about it. Even were 
it at all as you imagine^ it. is more than probable that it 
springs from transitory feeling that will soon yield to time 
and so will vanish. Are we not continually bringing vain 
troubles upon ourselves by imagining evil consequences 
that fail to happen ? It may be so in the present 
matter. Put on, therefore, your smiles once more ; and 
it may be that even the coming day will witness your 
release from trouble.” 

Thus encouraging her, he succeeded in bringing a 
flickering smile into her sad face, and she made ready to 
depart, tor the instant marvellously comforted. In order 
that she might not risk encounter with her betrothed and 
so make betrayal of her secret, Pere Rouflet released her 
at a little side door ; then, determining to have converse 
with the Knight, so as if possible to gain a true concep- 
tion of his feelings, he passed into the body of the church, 
and slowly, and with apparent listless step, wandered to- 
wards the altar. Reaching this, he paused ; and for a 


UNDER THE BELLS, 


83 


moment standing beside the other, silently awaited the 
result. For a few minutes the Knight paid him no re- 
gard, but remained with eyes fixed upon the picture, in 
spirit of deep and mournful revery. Then as Pere Rou- 
flet moved slightly, thereby softly brushing against his 
shoulder. Sir Loys started and eyed him askant, with in- 
quisitorial glance. 

“ A famous work, this picture of yours,” he remarked, 
after a moment recovering himself. “ One, I should 
think, that would have added greatly to the fame of many 
painters whom fortune has made more widely celebrated 
than yourself. Modelled from some young damsel of the 
people, whom you have met and been attracted towards, 
for her saintlike beauty ; did you not say ? ” 

Pere Rouflet bowed assent. 

“ And — and a holy penitent of your Church, I think 
you told me ? ” 

“ I did not say that, Sir Knight.” 

“ Nay, then it must surely be that I imagined it. Yet 
rightly so, I do not doubt. And was her penitence begun 
for one single fleeting fault, or for a long career of sin ? ” 

“ Neither does it become me openly to speak of that. 
Sir Knight. It would be an ill thing that I should be- 
tray the secrets of my calling.” 

“ True, — the confessional again. An institution doubt- 
less worthy of great reverence ; and yet methinks there 
must often be found occasion wherein it may interfere 
with justice, even more than at other times promoting it. 


84 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


As now, indeed. For, could there be given answer to 
that question I have asked, how greatly might it not 
comfort the heart of one — of a dear comrade-in-arms of 
mine ! Of my own age and station, Pere Rouflet. He 
loved a young damsel, — loved her with all his heart and 
soul. Once, I had occasion myself to see her, inasmuch 
as he was proud of her beauty and her affection for him- 
self, and was willing that all who were near to him in 
friendship should be able to look upon his happiness. 
And now, as it happens, in that picture I recognize some- 
thing of likeness to 'her. Nay, let me rather put away 
any show of mystery, and own at once that the young 
girl of whom I speak must have been the very same from 
whom that picture has been painted.” 

For a moment Pere Rouflet gazed upon the ground, 
hiding as much as possible his own expression ; with not 
ill judged or mistaken conjecture that the Knight, having 
made that poorly veiled show of frankness, in conceal- 
ment of his own identity in the matter, might be watching 
to see how far the deceit would prove effectual. It was 
not easy, therefore, for the Priest to force back the flush 
of consciousness or maintain a guileless appearance, 

“And your comrade-at-arms. Sir Knight,” he said at 
last, “ loving her so well, but being himself of such higher 
rank that there could be no question of marriage between 
them, — he wisely and warily looked upon her from a dis- 
tance ; was it not so ? ” 

This he asked, well knowing now, as he put the gathered 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


85 


threads of circumstance together, how the matter must 
have really been ; and yet, as he remembered how the 
fair Cecile in her innocence had told the story, hoping 
that the Knight could offer some plausible correspond- 
ence with it. 

“ Ha ! from a distance, did you say ? ” And the 
Knight gazed upon him for a second with something of 
contemptuous surprise ; wondering at his apparent inno- 
cent ignorance of the world, even as the other wondered 
that there should be any dream of successfully disguising 
love beneath the fiction of a pretended comrade. “ Ah 
me ! ” and the contemptuous look almost instantly passed 
away, with mournful recollections of a happy past, “ it 
was not, — it could not be so, indeed. For he was no 
monastery-bred ascetic, — this comrade of mine, — and for 
a while, the damsel loved him well ; and there was no 
one who should have power to say that they could not 
meet as often as they wished. Even she to whom my 
comrade stood betrothed was secluded from all knowl- 
edge of the world within convent walls, and could not 
well hear of what he did. Therefore he, — my comrade, 
that is, and Manon, — often met ; and for a single month 
he was supremely happy in her love. And after that, 
happy no longer, for she fled from him.” 

“ She abandoned him, you say ? ” 

“ Yes ; abandoned him forever, leaving behind her a 
single note of farewell, telling him that she had repented 
of the evil of her life and never more would see him. 


86 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


Ah, the sad blow that it was to him ! For he had so 
greatly loved her — that, indeed, I know full well — and 
he could never more be happy. Yet not all the while 
feeling in the same spirit, either. He was a man of 
proud and variable nature ; and there were moments 
when, let him struggle against it as he might, his mood 
would change and he would almost persuade himself that 
she had not left him merely for conscience sake, loving 
him the while as well as ever, but that she had falsely 
forsworn herself for some more wealthy rival, and had 
never loved him at all. Then, indeed, his anger would 
blaze out against her as fiercely as, at other times, his 
love reached forth.” 

“ It is, perhaps, very natural. Sir Knight.” 

“ Perhaps. But be that as it may, it was his manner. 
At the first, bowed down with despair and grief, — then 
angered, at times, with his doubts of her. So alternating 
between the two passions ; yet little by little, as he heard 
nothing further from her, feeling that his faith even in 
her former love was ever growing le:s, and his suspicion of 
her treason more assured. And so he gradually grew more 
calm, bringing himself into constant and increasing cer- 
tainty that she was unworthy even of his memory ; and 
at length, turning to her who had so long been his be^ 
trothed, he strove to give himself up to that earlier and 
more trustful love. But here is where is felt the bitterness 
of his life, Pere Rouflet. I fear that there still remains, se- 
cluded in his heart, some little spark of passion, ready 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


87 


with provocation to be fanned into its olden glow. I 
know that, for the preservation of his present love, he 
would fain forget the object of his former affection, yet 
cannot do so. I feel, indeed, that were he even to look 
upon yonder picture, so replete with grace and innocence 
and beauty, it might move him to renewal of his regretful 
passion. And so — ” 

“ And so. Sir Knight ?” 

“ So it is that I deplore the enforced secresy of the 
confessional, whereby this little matter cannot be disclosed. 
Assuredly, I now know, this young girl must have fled, in 
the end, to seek for penitence and peace. But when ? If it 
had been upon first abandoning my comrade, then I feel 
that his unhappiness and remorse might return in all their 
former power. I would not that this should happen to 
him. If, on the other hand, she had deserted him for 
another — perhaps for many others, in succession, coming 

to repentence only through weariness of the world, — then 

/ 

it seems better that he should truly know it. For then, 
indeed, his doubt of her treachery would be at an end, 
his grief subdued, his pride sustained and his earlier love 
remain forever fixed and faithful. Not his happiness 
alone, therefore would be thus assured, but that of her 
as well, who is to be his loving and trusting bride.” 

Still nervously biting the end of his long moustache, — 
still striving to frown away the emotion that partially 
hindered his utterance, the Knight gazed almost implor- 
ingly at Pere Rouflet, seeming to beg that he would tell him 


88 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


what he so much desired to know. What could Pere 
Rouflet say ? Even had Manon been untrue to the 
Knight, and the knowledge of the fact would so greatly 
calm his mind and give renewed happiness to his destined 
bride, it was not for Pere Rouflet to tell it. No cause on 
earth could warrant the betrayal of that secret. But how 
much greater need of reticence, when he knew that if he 
were to speak the truth, he must tell him that Manon had 
fled from the Knight’s arms at once to the shelter of the 
Church — how that no reason other than her sincere re- 
pentence had impelled her, — how that she had lived for 
months heart-broken at the separation from him and the fear 
that he might be thinking ill of her, — how bitter was often 
the struggle not to return to him and sacrifice all the 
fruits of her penitence, — how that even now she often 
awoke with his name upon her lips ! No, — evfen if per- 
mitted by his office, Pere Rouflet could not dare to be- 
tray all this. Therefore he held his speech. 

“ Did you have anything to tell me, Pere Rouflet ? ” 
the other inquired at last, still gazing fixedly upon him. 

“ What should I say. Sir Knight ? You must tell your 
comrade that confidences committed to me cannot be be- 
trayed, — and that if he feels true penitence for any wrong 
he has ever done, comfort will come to him at last.” 

“ I will tell him that, since it is all you have to say to 
him,” responded the Knight, after another moment of 
still steadfast gazing, during which he seemed to desire 
to search into the other’s soul and wrest its secret from 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


89 


him. “ But know, Pere Rouflet, that he will not be satis- 
fied with such empty words as those ; and that, if he has 
ever before blamed the Church for want of sympathy, he 
will now more likely curse it for an intolerant and hard- 
ened spirit.” 

With that, he turned upon his heel and left Pere Rouflet 
standing alone. 



CHAPTER VIL 

P ERE ROUFLET remained confused and motion- 
less, gazing up vacantly at the picture, which now 
seemed to him to glow with more gorgeous brightness 
than even before. Was this sunlit radiance a type or 
manifestation of Heaven’s approval of the thoughts that 
filled his heart ? And yet, those thoughts brought no com- 
fort to himself, but rather a sense of degradation, since 
they appeared only in the light of subtle tempters to a 
wrong. 

For, as he reflected upon the tearful misery of the fair 
Cecile, who in the expansiveness of her happiness had so 
lately exposed her whole heart before his gaze, there came 
upon, him the desire to aid her in the only way that now 
seemed possible, — to rehearse some fabricated story of 
Manon’s.past penitence for many acknowledged sins, 
so that Sir Toys would be able to turn his heart again 
from her and give it once more unto his lawful love. 
What though thereby the memory of another should be 
outraged ? She would never know it, and the happiness 
of the destined bride would from that time be saved. 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


91 


What though Manon should come ever to know it, after 
all ? Surely she would not too strictly take the full meas- 
ure of the sin, so long as she knew the purity of its in- 
tent ; while, in her abundant charity of heart, she would 
not regret the withdrawal of that far-off earthly love, when 
so well assured that its new bestowal would make a 
Heaven in the heart of her to whom it more rightfully be- 
longed. 

These disordered thoughts, these cruel temptations to 
do evil that good might come, went whirling in ceaseless 
round through his mind, as there he lingered and gazed up- 
ward. At last, however, he threw them off, as enemies to 
his own peace, and with that victory stood again with soul 
erect. One thing, however, he knew must be done. No 
longer now, than might be needful to finish the work he 
had in hand, should there be those daily meetings with 
Cecile in the quiet seclusion of his studio. It was pleas- 
ant, indeed, to sit and gaze listlessly upon her face, while 
still more listlessly, it may be, he prosecuted the task be- 
fore him. A line here and a shade there, — often not even 
that progress made during the allotted hour, which glided 
softly away in conversation rather than in art. A cheery 
thing, indeed, to sit with brush held idly in his hand, while 
from those earnest lips he listened to stories about the 
Court which he had never seen and the great outer world 
into which he had so seldom ventured. Seasons of ro- 
mance, almost, were these to him, gilding a life of drudg- 
ery and sombre detail that seldom had had any joyous light 


92 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


thrown upon it. And now, as soon as possible they must 
be brought to an end ; since, if persevered in, almost any 
day the longing Knight and the long lost penitent might 
have the ill fortune to meet in the old church, and the 
secret of each disastrously become betrayed. 

So determining, Pere Rouflet drew from the table 
drawer the vellum square, and studied it long and carefully 
to see how soon it could be finished. It was almost fin- 
ished now, indeed, — so it would have seemed to another ; 
— for already, even through his dilatory labor of the last 
few days, the likeness had been attained and lights and 
shades had been thrown in and properly disposed, and 
there appeared little else to do. At careless glance, it 
was the completed portrait of a peerless loveliness ; yet as 
the artist gazed upon it with increase of critical and com- 
prehensive attention, — the practice of his art having taught 
him to look beyond mere matter of physical beauty, — he 
sighed, for there was something wanting in the picture. 
The sadness of the past few days, not intended to be copied, 
had nevertheless left its impress, obliterating much of the 
first effect obtained from observation of her sunny smiles 
and intelligent vivacity ; and now the picture stood rather 
as likeness of mere form and outline than of true expres- 
sion. It was as though, apart from any outward grace of' 
attitude and feature, there was no proper delineation of 
soul, linked with the inner springs of nature and replete 
with impassioned fervor and intensity of heart. Nothing 
more captivating, indeed, at the first glance, than that 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


93 


semblance of heavily fringed hazel eyes ; yet still there 
was lacking some suggestion of their ceaseless play of 
vivacity and merriment, without which it was a portraiture 
of mere surface loveliness. There was not visible that 
almost indefinable something ; which, through other eyes 
less beautiful will often so eloquently and naturally speak 
of richer and more abounding graces within. As the 
painter bent over his work, his heart felt weary within 
him. He realized how feebly he had now succeeded, in 
comparison with his one other work of portraiture. In 
that, whether it was that the task had been more easy or 
his heart more earnestly devoted to its perfect fulfilment, 
he had won a satisfying success. Manon’s sweet, quiet, 
dreamy repose, into which, as into a tranquil, unruffled 
pool, he could peer far down and gain some compre- 
hension of the nature of its inner depths, — her dark- 
brown contemplative eyes, so eloquently telling their story 
of soul-absorbing revery and thought, — these, indeed, 
had been reproduced in all their calm and radiant loveli- 
ness, making a picture before which the devout could 
reverently bow, — the picture of a being to be loved 
throughout eternity by satisfied and responsive hearts, or, 
if trust were broken, to be remembered as long, with equal 
power of hate, but never capable of leaving lukewarm 
memories. For many minutes, Pere Rouflet sat and pon- 
dered over this variation in his success, — wondering 
whether it was due to the fair originals themselves or to 
his own less enthusiastic interest in the task. Then, hear- 


94 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


ing a slight movement as of some one entering, he looked 
up and started, seeing before him the living representative 
of the former picture. 

“ Manon ? ” 

“ You did not expect to see me, Pere Rouflet ? And 
indeed, I have been absent for so long, that it must have 
seemed as though your penitent had forever strayed away. 
But I have been very ill, Pere Rouflet, — too ill to come 
before.” 

“ Sit down, Manon, and let me look at you and hear 
all that you have seen and done.” 

She sank down opposite him, in the high backed carved 
chair where the fair Cecile had been wont to sit. How 
different the two ! The one a tall and graceful figure, 
replete with types of radiant loveliness that forced them- 
selves unresistedly upon the eye with full power of their 
engaging, alluring superfluity, — with face, which, when 
the heart had been at ease, shone brightly as an earthly 
representative of joyous, sunny Hebe. The other, — 
small, careworn and wasted in feature, — a being of re- 
tiring, shrinking habit, scarcely therefore likely at first 
sight to attract another’s notice, and now keeping the few 
poor traits of beauty that she might still possess carefully 
concealed and shrouded in coarse serge dress and heavy 
gray hood. Nor, when she threw back the hood and dis- 
closed more openly her small, unadorned head, with its 
wealth of dark brown hair smoothed almost out of sight 
beneath a plain white band, would the observer have 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


95 


seen, at the first, any especial attraction in her. And 
yet, it needed only a moment more, it may be, to take 
note of the dark earnest eyes replete with thought that 
gave meaning and intensity to the whole expression, and 
the lips that in their quiet, sedate curves harmonized so 
perfectly with the deep power of the eyes ; and with that, 
the looker-on would not have failed to comprehend how 
in that pensive face must lurk subtle fascinations, which, 
were she disposed to make use or revelation of them, 
might easily command a devotion refused to more brilliant 
and openly asserted charms. 

“Tell me, Manon, what have you to say?” Pere 
Rouflet continued, after a moment of silent contempla- 
tion. There was expression of discomposure in his tone ; 
for he had noted the wasting of the little face and figure, 
— a wasting away, it seemed to him, that had been less 
apparent even when he had last seen her, a month before. 

“ Do you remember, Pere Rouflet, when first I came 
hither, almost a year ago ? I was a poor unknown girl ; 
and from that circumstance, indeed, but little entitled to a 
stranger’s care and sympathy. I made confession of a 
fault, — such confession as one may make without betray- 
ing other name than my own ; and I thought to obtain 
absolution and such advice as in your full occupation of 
time could be given, — then to go my way again and here 
be no more seen. But you were kinder than I had ever 
hoped, and you talked long and earnestly with me, in- 
quiring deeply into my mind ; and you gave me such 


96 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


advice as was new to me, but which still, even then, 
commended itself urgently to my heart.” 

I recall to mind,” said the other, “ that, observing in 
you no mere transitory fever of repentance, I knew you 
for an earnest soul, and recommended entrance into a 
convent.” 

“ It was so. Nor was the advice greatly contrary to 
my own desire. Yet still, I thought, there should be 
some other and different life more suited to me. I reflected 
that it might not be enough to vanish from the world 
between convent walls, and thenceforth look only to my 
own benefit ; but that it were better to make amends for 
what had passed, by striving, as much as lay in me, to do 
good towards others. There are so many sick and miser- 
able people in the world, good Pere Rouflet, and so few 
to aid them, — is it not so ? ” 

“ It is so, indeed.” 

“ Therefore I said, that I would go about among these 
sick and miserable, and do for them what I could, and as 
long as my strength held out. And I further said, that if 
ever the time came wherein my ability so to do might fail, 
•then I would ask you to find a refuge for me in some 
convent home, so that others might give me their loving 
care, and smooth my way into another world. Do you re- 
member my saying that ? ” 

‘‘I recall it, Manon.” 

“ It is well. And now — the time has come, dear Pere 
Rouflet.” 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


97 


As she spoke, she pushed the loose gray sleeve partially 
up one of her arms, more by that action than by any es- 
pecial look, directing the other’s attention thereto, in ex- 
planation of her remark. Pere Rouflet turned pale ; was 
this the end of all ? That thin emaciated arm, betokening 
beyond doubt or question the wasting away of all the 
frame, — could there be no restorative here ? He turned 
his gaze thence upon her face ; and now he saw there 
also, the undeniable signs of illness and debility. The 
hollow cheek and the thin, pinched lips, — those well 
known evidences of decay now so plainly visible ;and the 
large dark eyes seeming, by the contrast of their undimin- 
ished power with all things else, more deep and earnest 
than ever, in their quiet intensity of gaze — 

“ There must — there shall be some relief for this, 
Manon,” said Pere Rouflet, striving to give cheerful tone 
to his failing voice. 

“ None that we know of, Pere Rouflet,” and she smiled as 
she spoke. “ Why should I hold out for myself hopes that 
can never be realized, seeing that I have so often, during 
this last year, watched these signs in others and never known 
them fail ? A few weeks — a few months at the most, — 
and then, the last in this world of poor Manon. You will 
not miss her greatly, kind Pere ? A pleasant thoughtful 
memory of her, at chance moments, it may be ; but other- 
wise you will not be sad about her ? ” 

Pere Rouflet looked down at the floor and almost 
groaned aloud, with difficulty refraining himself. 


98 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


“ Why, too, should I regret it, dear Pere Rouflet ? A 
few years more or less, — and the issue must be all the 
same. And surely this life of mine has not been such a 
joyous one of late that I should lovingly cling to it, or 
that feeling it passing from me, should refuse to reconcile 
myself to losing it. True, I have tried to do a duty in 
expiation for the past, and perhaps in some degree have 
succeeded, yet scarcely without many pains and sorrows at- 
tending it, and sad recollections clouding every moment. 
And now that my life is drav/ing to a close, may it not be that 
at some convent of which you have control, they will con- 
sent to receive and take care of me until the end, — even to 
welcome me, it may be, for the poor little good that I have 
tried to do ? Will it not be so, kind Pere ? ” 

“ And when do you propose — ” 

Ah Pere Rouflet, that is what I scarcely know, myself. 
My failing strength tells me that the time should be even 
now ; — -my will and inclination say that I should wait 
awhile. Hardly do I know, myself, what I should do ; 
and therefore I would ask for counsel. And yet to ask 
for that counsel I must tell so much that I scarcely know 
how to tell.” 

“ Explain yourself, Manon.” 

“ It is this, Pere Rouflet. Daily, for weeks past, I have 
felt my strength failing me and the languor of death steal- 
ing over me, and have known that the convent retreat 
must be near at hand. But daily with a stronger will have 
I resisted, feeling that there might be much more in this 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


99 


world for me to do ; — much more — much more for me to 
learn. Yet only last evening, I was passing through the 
street to a patient whom I must not neglect to see, inasmuch 
as she had learned so longingly to expect me, when I felt 
such weakness creeping over me, that for the moment I 
could not proceed. I clung for support to what came nearest 
to my hand, there rested for many minutes, then for awhile 
recovered. Then, too, I saw that what I had grasped 
was the handle of a convent door, by the mere turning 
of which handle, I might find rest. Was it Heaven that 
had thus directed my steps, good Pere ? Was it a sugges- 
tion that it became my duty to follow ? ” 

“ It is hard to say, Manon ; and yet it might be that — 
but what followed then ? ” 

“ Only that, for a moment, I was tempted to enter and 
make an end of all the struggle. But almost as soon, there 
came contrary impulses. How could I enter there and 
cut myself asunder from all outer ties and not say farewell 
to those few sick who had learned to love and look for 
me,, and would not know the true reason for my continued 
absence, and would thenceforth blame me for desertion 
and it might be, would wilfully think harshly of me ? Nay, 
I could not surely give occasion for all that.” 

“ Yet, Manon, it would not take many hours for you to 
make farewell to such as these, and allay all possible oc- 
casion for reproach.” 

True, Pere Rouflet. But then again,” — with that, for 
a moment, she dropped her gaze and seemed to play idly 


lOO 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


with her wasted fingers, while her color came and went ; 
and it seemed to Pere Roiiflet as though already she was 
repenting of her proposed confidence and would speak no 
further. “ Then again,” she continued with an effort, 
“ there came of a sudden, the rush of past memories — 
coming as with force of whirlwind — telling me to wait a 
little longer ; for that if I did so, I should hear more about 
one — about one from whom long ago I had forever parted. 
You know a little about what I mean. For I had hitherto, 
— at my first coming here, indeed, — told you that I had 
fled from some one, and that my sin had consisted in love 
for him. I did not — I had no right, perhaps to tell his 
name ; seeing that it would be betrayal of his confidence 
and would not make difference in my own soul’s welfare. 
Therefore you have never known who that person was.” 

Pere Roufiet looked down again, in mortal fear lest she 
might read his thoughts, and thereby, of course, his knowl- 
edge. But though, in spite of all he could do, he felt his 
color come and go, Manon suspected nothing. 

“ But that there was such a person, so much you know. 
I left him' secretly — the world would say, ungratefully. 
And though I strove to soften the blow, if blow it were to 
him at all, yet it must be that I then earned his hate. I 
shall never see him more, Pere Roufiet, — should never 
have seen him again, even were he living ; and — and he 
is dead. Died on the battle-field, I was told, in some wild 
foray of arms,— dying, they say, as bravely as he had lived. 
But what to me were brave death, so long as I could not 
feel that he had forgiven me ? ” 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


lOI 


“And how, Manon — " 

“ I know your question, and I cannot answer it. Indeed 
I cannot tell how I may ever know that he has forgiven me. 
Yet this one thing I can affirm. Though hitherto, strive 
to repress the feeling as I may, he has never been absent 
from my mind, it has always been with the tender mourn- 
fulness with which one thinks or dreams about a loved, 
dead friend ; and in that, indeed, there can surely belittle 
sin. But yesterday, as I stood against the convent door, 
determining whether 1 should enter or not, there came, 
with other thoughts, this sudden, strange, unanticipated 
and far different remembrance of — of him. Coming with 
torrent rush, — a feeling, that if I were to wait awhile, I 
might hear again of him, — a strangeness of sensation as 
though he were not dead but stood very near to me — or, 
being dead, as full well I know that he must be, his spirit 
were whispering something to me. And with that, I re- 
leased my grasp from the convent door and hurried away. 
Some time, — not many days distant perhaps, — I must re- 
turn thither, and to remain ; but can you blame me, kind 
loving Pere, in that I have listened to that inward prompt- 
ing which bade me wait a little longer ?“ 

“ Rather not wait a single day ! ” cried Pere Rouflet 
rising from his seat and pacing the little room in sudden 
tumult of disturbing fear. For to what unhappy end 
did not all things now seem tending ? The Count Toys 
each day devouring with his whole soul the portrait of his 
lost love, forgetting thereby half his duty to his promised 


102 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


bride, — that promised bride beset with plans and con- 
spiracies against her peace, new destinies planned out for 
her only to be thwarted by the power of a constant affec- 
tion which any hour might be shaken into dissolution by 
well assured jealousy, — Manon herself encompassed with 
mysterious premonitions of the living presence of one 
whom she had believed dead ; — what might hinder that 
at any moment, two of these persons should meet, and 
terrible disturbance and ruin thereby overtake them all ? 
“ Not for a single day ! ” Pere Rouflet repeated. Do 
you not now see that these impulses must come from the 
Evil One for your destruction ? ” 

“ The Evil One, did you say ?” responded Manon, in 
superstitious affright. 

“ Whence else, indeed ? Did not the temptation to de- 
lay come at the very moment when you had your hand 
upon the convent door, in readiness to seek the peace 
only to be found within ? At what other season do these 
temptations certainly assail us, as when thus urged by good 
impulses ? ” 

“ It may be so, — I will not say nay, Pere Rouflet.” 

“You thought, then, of him whom you had left, — re- 
membered him with love, though you knew that it was 
your urgent duty to struggle for forgetfulness of him alto- 
gether ! Knew that you had done right to leave him, and, 
that whatever strange thoughts might afterwards come, you 
could never see him more ! That even were he not dead on 
earth, yet he was dead to you, his existence being for you 


Ui^DER THE BELLS. 


03 


only of the past ! That were he not dead and you should 
ever meet him, it must only be to cast your eyes away, 
lest temptation should assail you once again and destroy 
all the good you had done in penitence ! That were he 
not dead and were he even to pursue you, your duty would 
be to flee and put away every charm that might still 
please him, and rather seek to educate his heart to hate 
you, than again to love ! ” 

Turning with this burst of impulsive passion once more 
towards her, Pere Rouflet looked earnestly to mark its 
effect. Seldom, before, had he spoken to any one with 
such determined energy ; — surely she, who had always 
seemed so ready to follow his slightest counsel, would not 
now dream of disobeying him. That poor pale wasted 
face that even in its utmost strength of long past days 
had borne for him such impress of assent to his utmost 
will, — there should not now be any token of rebellious 
purpose written on it. But as he gazed, he beheld a 
power of resistance that he had never hitherto there 
noted, — in the flash of dark eye and close-set lip, a calm 
unalterable purpose not to be overcome by vehemence of 
authoritative language. Had he gone too far ? Had he 
said anything that could make her suspicious of the truth ? 
Such things did often happen, and the very impulsiveness 
of caution might engender distrust. It was not so now, 
indeed. Yet to almost equal purpose of resistence was 
her conscrousness of unjust lack of confidence in her own 
strength, and of tyrannical intent to overthrow her better 
perceptions of what was needful. 


104 UNDER THE BELLS. 

‘‘ You speak from your heart, Pere Rouflet, and doubt- 
less as you conceive it best for me,” she answered ; and 
in her own sense and power of strength and determina- 
tion she too arose and stood erect. A small, frail figure, 
indeed ; but so impressed with every outward sign and 
import of calm internal resolution, that the other, already 
exhausted by his own unaccustomed violence, stood 
beaten and baffled before her. “ But how can I fully 
trust that you now advise aright ; knowing, as you do, so 
little about my real strength of purpose, or of the 
impulses and emotions that bid me exert it ? Doubtless 
the Evil One may have power to assail ; to me is given also, 
power to resist. I will not timidly turn away from contest 
with him and seek safety in flight, — not even to the refuge 
of convent walls, as long as there is anything for me to 
do outside. The sick girl whom I must visit lest she 
may think me an ingrate for seeming regardless of her 
love, — the child who has learned to look for my coming 
as though I were its mother, — the wounded man-at-arms 
who has heard for months no sisterly voice other than 
mine, — do you think that I should prove neglectful of 
such as these, or that the Evil One would imagine he could 
do himself a service by keeping me at their side ? And 
then ” 

“ Then what, Manon ? ” said Pere Rouflet, in saddened 
and faltering tones, seeing that she hesitated. 

“ Then, Pere Rouflet,” she continued, taking new reso- 
lution and power of fortitude upon herself, “ then there 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


05 


is this, also, that I must say. A year ago I left the only 
person whom I had ever learned to love ; hoping that I 
should never see him more. But I do not yield to your 
opinion that it could ever be my duty to forget him. Had 
he lived, I might never have looked upon his face again ; 
but none the less would I have followed him in my 
thoughts with all holy regard, and would have forever 
wished him well. Now that he is dead, I can do the 
same, and hope for his welfare in another world than this, 
nor blush to own it. And I tell you, good Pere Rouflet, 
that however sinful it may seem to you, there was more 
of reason, mysterious as it may be, in the perceptions 
that assailed me at the convent gate, than I can venture 
to disregard. The thrill that crossed me, — the sudden real- 
ization that in some way he might be near me, — the inner 
voice that told me I might before long hear of him, ” 

“Yet how, indeed, could that be, Manon ? Seeing that 
on the battle-field — ” 

“ How,indeed, Pere Rouflet ? That, surely, I cannot tell; 
only I feel that it must be so. You know that of all things 
on earth, I have pined for his forgiveness. What if on the 
battle-field where he lay dying, he had chanced to call my 
name ? What if some surviving comrade had heard him 
do so ; and comprehending that it was with accents not of 
rough scorn or hate but of sweet forgiveness and love, 
that comrade were to come and tell me of it ? Would it 
have been well, if meanwhile I had shut myself up from 
all the outer world, away from one syllable of those pleas- 


io6 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


ant tidings ; and so, for want of them, were to eat up my 
heart in the agonies of despair ? All this might not so 
happen, — could scarcely be, as in my more sobered mo- 
ments, I realize ; but then, other events or circumstances 
might be at hand to restore to me something of the older 
joy. Be it as it may, something has told me that I must 
wait ; and so will I now do.” 

“ And until how long, Manon? For it cannot be wrong 
that I should ask so much as that ? ” 

“Nay, good Pere, it is not wrong; nor, in intent, is 
anything wrong that you ever do. Wait then a week, — 
even two weeks, let us say. I may not in that time lose 
so much strengtn, that they will not receive me, do you 
think ? In two weeks, then, I will be ready, and will make 
no longer opposition.” 

“In two weeks, then, let it be,” responded the other, 
with a heavy sigh ; a sigh of mingled sorrow that the time of 
danger should be so long extended, and of satisfaction 
that he had her promise at the last. “ Meanwhile, take 
good heed of your health and be not abroad too fre- 
quently. And remember likewise that these are two 
weeks of probation to your soul, during which the Evil 
One will sorely strive to tempt you, even to putting him- 
self in false imagery before your eyes. Should he so do, 
fly in affright and fear ; even if, as might be most possi- 
ble, and as the most tempting allurement he could offer, he 
should assume the shape of him whom you had so greatly 
loved.” 



CHAPTER VIII. 

W ITH that, Pere Rouflet released her at the little 
side door, where previously he had sent away Ce- 
cile ; with same intent now as then, that Sir Toys should 
not, by any chance, be encountered. This done, he sank 
again into his chair, spread his arms across the table, 
placed his face thereon, and softly wept. 

He realized now, what before he had only dimly sus- 
pected and dreaded, — his love for Manon. Why this 
should be so, since all his life he had held himself with 
meek reserve away from any thoughts of other’s affec- 
tions, he could not tell ; it was enough for him that it had 
so come about. Why at the last, after looking unmoved 
upon much abounding loveliness, he had been destined to 
fix his heart upon one whose beauty was so retiring and 
unobtrusive that it must be studied ere it could fully be 
realized, was as mysterious as the rest. Yet had it not 
been the same with Sir Toys, who even now, in mem- 
ory of that past love, could almost forget the rich, full 
graces of pure affection that bloomed for him at his very 
side ? How it was that Pere Rouflet had now become 


io8 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


awakened to the full conception of this terrible heart’s 
mistake, it was easy to perceive. Doubtless he might 
have continued to meet Manon month after month and 
year after year in the same old spirit of mere friendship, 
giving her all necessary counsel and parting from her with 
formal benediction, but for the jealous feeling inspired 
by Sir Loys’ return. Had Manon even gone that day 
into convent life, and in such seclusion been forever 
buried from the world, Pere Rouflet would have borne 
it calmly, and would have simply sighed for her as 
after a well-trusted friend whom at last he had lost ; but 
it had become no more the mere longing of friendship, 
now that danger pressed so closely and that he so well 
perceived in which direction her affections were still 
blindly yet firmly directing themselves. 

Let it with all this, be said, that Pere Rouflet’s only 
thought, upon realizing his condition, was one of repent- 
ance for the mortal sin he conceived himself committing. 
Those were days in which even Bishops and Cardinals 
made light of giving themselves up, as others around them 
did, to worldly love, imputing to themselves little fault for 
that ; but to Pere Rouflet, brought up by necessity and 
inclination combined, in almost monastic seclusion, his 
state of feeling was as of one weighed down with burden 
of unpardonable sin. This, too, when he knew that his 
love must be all in vain, and, at the worst, must remain 
merely an error of the heart. Even at the most, he might 
simply dream of what might have been, and not of what 


UNDER THE BELLS. I09 

ever could be. There might have been one instant when, 
as his face was hidden between his outstretched hands, 
he looked far backward and in speculative wanderings of 
thought, wondered what might have happened had every- 
thing been other than it was ? What if he had been lay- 
man rather than priest, and had been shapely and fitted 
for the conflict with the world, rather than uncouth and 
by nature retiring ? And what if Manon had not ever 
seen the Knight, and the Knight had never chanced to take 
note of her ? But the next moment, raising his head, Pere 
Rouflet saw no more the pleasant ideal picture ; — only his 
stained and threadbare gown of ecclesiastic, binding him 
to solitary life as with iron fetters, the narrow window let- 
ting the light fall in upon sacred symbols, and through the 
half open door, the long aisle with the time -stained monu- 
ments and tablets, almost his only friends. 

Then he roused himself and sought for action. So 
only might he quiet his troubled thoughts. Let him re- 
press all vain imaginings, and devote himself to the duties 
of the moment ; thereby, at the last, true peace might 
come. And that, — the sole duty of the hour, indeed, — 
was to act in such a way that the Knight might hold 
Manon no longer in living remembrance. Only thereby, 
could the misery hovering over all three be swept aside 
and baffled. He had told Manon that even were SirLoys 
alive, it were her duty so to conduct herself that he would 
despise her rather than be tempted to renew his love. 
How now, in her ignorance that the Knight still lived, 


1 lO 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


could the Priest become her guardian and occupy her 
place and save her from herself? Already once, he had 
rejected the temptation to tell a false tale for Sir Loys’ 
future composure and relief. But might there not be 
some subtle way discovered, — so with hair-splitting casu- 
istry he reflected, — whereby the false story could be made 
to tell itself ? 

It might be that when Pere Rouflet sought his couch, — 
there for a while to toss to and fro in abject misery of 
heart, — his purpose already had its birth, though un- 
realized and undefined. But as the hours advanced, it 
took more distinct form upon itself ; and when at last he 
fell asleep, its shapeliness continued still to grow. How 
or by what impulse or direction, could not be known. No 
bright visions came to calm his perturbed mind, — celes- 
tial faces had not looked down upon him with inspirations, 
— seraphic wings had not fluttered soothingly about him. 
But when he awoke, it was not to renewal of the conflict, 
but to cheerfulness, content and hope ; and out of that 
deep, dreamless sleep had come the serenity of a well- 
formed purpose. The purpose of a new idea, coming 
with fresh life to his soul, — crowding out all his doubts and 
fears, — speaking of success in execution and certainty in 
result, — rousing him from desponding vacillation into in- 
stant energy of action. 

The day was only slightly advanced, — the sun but a 
few minutes high, — the streets as yet almost deserted. 
The great porch-doors of the cathedral had not as yet 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


T II 


been thrown open, and Pere Rouflet was alone and un- 
disturbed, With stealthy eagerness, he crept up beneath 
the picture of Sainte-Clotilde, mounted a few steps to 
bring himself to its level, — then, with brush and pallet in 
hand, made accurate preliminary scrutiny. A scrutiny 
which, with all its carefulness, lasted only for a minute ; 
but even that was sufficient. Much study was not what 
now he needed ; it was rather an inspiration of the 
moment that must most truly serve him. Not rigid, 
methodical calculation, indeed ; but rather the impulse 
of a determined quickened perception. Dipping his 
brush into water-color, — for even in that state of ex- 
hilerated assurance he did not dare to risk undoing all 
his previous excellence of work by one false touch of 
oil, — he drew a single dotted shade along each curve of 
the figure's lips ; then hastily descended from the spot 
and hurried a little down the nave, the better to note 
the result. 

Nothing, it would seem; — or rather, nothing which would 
have been observable to any except an artist’s eye. Upon 
almost any of the customary frequenters of the church, the 
figure would still smile as brightly and lovingly as ever. 
Even to himself, so familiar with the picture and know- 
ing what he had done, at first there seemed no altera- 
tion in it. Yet as he gazed more critically, he could 
dimly see that something was wanting which had before 
been there, — some particle of the natural sweetness and 
benignity had now vanished, — there was a trifling diminu- 


II2 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


tion of the ineffable grace that had made the picture such 
a masterpiece. Would it be noticeable to any one else, 
indeed ? 

Waiting until the church-doors were opened, Pere 
Rouflet stood at one side and watched the few worship- 
pers as they entered. One by one, — stealing gently in ; 
nearly all advancing to the altar step, and there kneeling, 
with their eyes fixed upon the glowing picture. Clown and 
laborer in dingy blouse, — market woman leaving her basket 
half way down the aisle, — here and there a tradesman or 
artificer of fair degree; — so they approached and passed be- 
neath his observant eyes. In all, he saw the reverent pos- 
ture, the supplicating gaze ; in none was there shadow of 
expression which might tell of wonder or confusion of mind 
or reveal any suspicion of perception that the painting 
was not as it had been from the very first. Could it be 
that he had been too sparing in his work, — that he had 
accomplished nothing, and had merely let his wishes de- 
ceive him into belief of any alteration being made at all ? 

Noon came ; and with the sonorous stroke of the great 
belfry bell, Cecile entered. Pere Rouflet stood aloof 
and watched her with more critical attention than he 
had bestowed upon any of the others ; for it was upon her 
more artistic perceptions that he relied most surely as test 
of success in his present plan. She, too, kneeling before 
the altar raised her eyes to the picture ; but there was no 
flicker of expression to show that she read anything dif- 
ferent from the others. His heart sank within him ; and 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


II3 

abandoning his post of observation, he followed her into 
the studio and took up his accustomed task. 

“ And the Knight, my child, — has he changed for the 
right, again ? ” 

“ Sir Loys loves me no longer, Pere Rouflet. Pie is 
more kind in manner than ever before, it may be ; yet it 
comes not from his heart.” 

Again her eyes filled with tears, — again an outburst of 
choking sobs. Once more Pere Rouflet strove to comfort 
her, only succeeding as the first violence of her grief be- 
came exhausted. He was disappointed, indeed, that she 
had not a better story to tell him ; blaming himself, at 
the same time, for the feeling. For he knew that during 
the previous day no effect could have been produced by 
what he had done that very morning, since our works do 
not act in retrospect ; and yet there had been in his heart 
a foolish instinct of hope that some change might have 
already come. Therefore while comforting her, he could 
not altogether reason away his own disappointment ; 
feeling, at the same time, a fear that he might have been 
too negligent and sparing in his work. 

But when she had dried her eyes and finished her sit- 
ting, and pulling her veil closely about her face had stolen 
homeward through the little side door, and Pere Rouflet, 
coming forth into the body of the church, saw the Knight 
standing motionless before the picture, he thought that he 
detected in his gaze a faint gleam of perplexity. The 
earnest look of regretful love was, perhaps, there all the 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


II4 

same, but mingled with it was an almost indefinable im- 
press of uncertainty and wonderment. As upon the pre- 
vious day, Pere Rouflet stole softly forward, hoping that 
when he had gained the other’s notice, there might ensue 
some conversation about the picture and thereby afford 
an index to the real suggestions of the heart. But as he 
approached, the Knight moved away, and in a moment 
more strode down the nave ; and with that, the oppor- 
tunity for present converse was lost. 

But the next morning, the Knight was there once again ; 
and on his face the same faint impress of perplexity. 
This time he could no longer resist some manifestation of 
his state of thought, and said : 

“ It is a bright warm day, Pere Rouflet ; and therefore 
it may be that it is not the proper time to give lustre or 
adornment to these your works. Tell me, now ; does not 
such a clear sunshiny morn as this cause injury to their 
effect, — bringing out, perchance, into some evident obser- 
vation, those unavoidable blemishes that, in a gloomy 
atmosphere might not be seen ? ” 

Pere Rouflet shook his head. 

“It is not so. Sir Knight,” he made response. “If 
there be any difference at all, it lies in this : that in this 
clearer light, whatever beauties of expression there may 
chance to be are made more manifest, while ordinary 
blemishes are lost in. the increased brilliancy of the 
whole.” 

“ True, — true ; it must, of a certainty be so,” Sir Toys 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


II5 

muttered ; and with that, once more he strode away, a 
shade of disappointment resting upon his face, as from 
the influence of a hope' unfulfilled and a mystery unex- 
plained. And so far, Pere Rouflet felt that all was going 
well ; more especially as, upon the following morning, 
Cecile appeared with something of her pallor gone and 
a brightening expression upon her face. 

“ Not that as yet I am altogether happy, Pere Rouflet. 
Not that I can feel assured he loves me again, as once he 
did. But it seems as though this morning he spoke to me 
more from the real warmth of his heart, and I felt that his 
eyes rested upon me with something of the olden fondness. 
Yet it may again all pass away.” 

“ Perchance, — or it may increase. The last is as easy 
to conceive of as the first. Why, therefore, look upon 
the darkened side and anticipate trouble ? ” 

That day the Knight seemed as he had been the day 
before, — troubled and perplexed, yet avoiding much con- 
verse. So for a week, during which Pere Rouflet dared 
not press further in his scheme, lest by too suddenly 
attempting much, he might undo all. But at the expira- 
tion of the week, once more at early dawn he mounted 
to the level of the painting, with palette and brush in 
hand. This time he did not touch the lips, but placed 
two minute spots of color upon the corners of the eyes. 
Some subtle instinct seemed to guide his hand aright ; 
for when he surveyed his work from the centre of the 
nave, he saw that though the actual likeness still stood un- 


Il6 UNDER THE BELLS. 

impaired, something was gone. It was something that in 
part had given to the picture its chiefest charm, — it was the 
sweet love lit serenity that had beamed so lustrously from 
the eyes and helped shed a saintlike expression upon the 
whole countenance. That impress was now obliterated ; 
and though the original brightness of the eyes remained, 
it was stamped with a certain cold, repellant, unsympa- 
thetic gaze. 

Still, to the common observation, there was the same 
likeness as before ; and as again Pere Rouflet stood and 
watched the worshippers file in, he saw that there was 
not in one face any conscious perception of a change. 
But now, at last, he no longer felt oppressed with doubt of 
his success ; he knew that upon the coming of him for 
whom it was all intended, the great purpose would be 
found fulfilled. And so it proved, indeed. When the 
sitting in the studio closed, the Knight was at his post ; 

. but mingled with his perplexity and doubt, there was an 
expression bordering upon dismay. Now, indeed, did it 
seem that he could not avoid speaking to Pere Rouflet, 
even though he might not otherwise have wished to do so. 
Rather did he seek his notice, seizing him impulsively 
by the arm and leading him abruptly forward. 

“ Is this a dream, Pere Rouflet, or am I the sport of a 

fiend ? ” he cried. “ Or else, Tell me ; was that 

painting yonder, a true likeness of her whom you took 
as your model for it ? ” 

“ A true and faithful likeness. Sir Knight. Not one 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


II7 

feature portrayed amiss, nor expression of grace left 
iinsupplied.” 

“ And of a surety, it must still be the same. Has my 
eye, therefore, lost its full power of perception, or has 
my heart — Tell me this, also. You know the springs 
of the human mind, for you have listened to many a tale 
of heartfelt struggle, and it is your vocation to probe 
every emotion to the core, seeking the true origin of its 
disease. You are artist, as well, — perchance more artist 
than priest ; and must have learned how at different times, 
the pictured canvas may variously affect the same person, 
— in proportion, it may be, as the mind feels predisposed 
to receive diverse impressions.” 

“ Well, Sir Knight ? ” 

“ Let me know this, indeed. At one time, — I ask 
this not as relating to myself, you will understand, but 
merely as a curious, subtle question now happening to 
engage my speculative faculties, — at one time, I see the 
portrait of one whom I have once known, and I find it 
replete with every grace and beauty as well as excellence 
of refinement. It sheds upon me a glow as of celestial 
love, and I seem to bask in a sunshine of happy mem- 
ories. Another time I once more see the portrait, and I 
find it different. It is, of a certainty, in all respects the 
same ; yet it now seems to me vastly changed. The 
sunshine has gone out of it, — the grace and winsome 
loveliness have disappeared, — there remain, indeed, the 
form and feature and attitude, — in all, the mere shell of 


ii8 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


beauty ; — but the vivifying soul is there no longer. 
Coldness has taken the place of warmth, — a keen, search- 
ing gaze replaces the accustomed gentle look of confiding, 
trusting affection.” 

“ And what then. Sir Knight ? ” 

“ This, — this is what I would fain know. As I have 
said already, the change is not in the picture. That 
cannot alter. It must therefore be in myself. But in 
what does this change consist ? Is it that I am falling 
away in all true friendship from that one whom I knew, 
— letting the selfishness and corruption of the world 
engender in me a base degeneracy of regard, so that I 
am inclined to magnify the slightest failings into faults, 
and look upon my friend with treacherous indifference ? 
Or, on the other hand, is it that I have heretofore been 
the victim of some false glamor that has warped my 
judgment, turned my heart astray from what is right, 
and led me to believe in excellences which did not at 
all exist ; and that now, with clearer brain, I awaken to 
the truth as it has always been ? ” 

“ How can I tell, Sir Knight ? ” Pere Rouflet answered, 
moved with strong emotion. “ It may be the one thing, 
— it may be the other, — it may be compound of both. 
To each man, surely, the truest knowledge of his own 
heart.” 

“ Yes, to each one the best knowledge of himself,” 
was the somewhat wrathful response, “ even though that 
be not true priestly doctrine, To each one, judgment 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


II9 

of his own heart ; but why not, then, of conscience as 
well ? I were a fool, indeed, to ask another about what I 
could so well determine for myself. Priest and artist com- 
bined, — how can even they help me, as long as I have a 
brain of my own with which to fathom the darkness ? ” 

With that, he turned and went clanging down the nave, 
leaving Pere Rouflet distressed and saddened. Who was 
he himself, indeed, — so came the thought, — that he should 
have the right to bring this trouble upon another, even 
though it might be for honest purpose ? Yet he had his 
reward, when, upon the following day, he saw Cecile 
appear. Her face already seemed to have grown rounder 
and replete with a deeper glow, — her eyes shone more 
brightly, and there was even suggestion of the olden smile 
upon her features. 

“ For he is loving me once more,” she said, when Pere 
Rouflet commended the improvement in her. “ Not yet 
as before, it may be, good Pere ; but it is surely coming 
back to me, all the same. Already does it seem to me 
that the violence of his estrangement is passing off, and 
that before long he will return to me as true as ever. 
Why then should I not smile and show rounded cheeks ? 
And with his restored love, why need I fear the wiles 
and plans of King, or Grand Duke of Mantua, or the 
whole Court together, in attempt to change my destiny ? ” 

Why, indeed ? And now, seizing the propitious mo- 
ment, Pere Rouflet sought and not with ill success to 
transfer more propitiously to her portrait, through the aid 


120 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


of her re-awakened beauty, those graces of thought and 
spirit which heretofore he had failed to catch. Passing 
a week thereat in well sustained and successful labor ; 
toiling more diligently indeed, than ever before, inas- 
much as throughout all, he bore with him that overshad- 
owing dread of mishap and consequent perception that 
there should be no more needless delay. 

At last — as sooner or later all things that are so intended 
wilt come — the day arrived in which the portrait stood 
completed. Then Pere Rouflet, seeing no way in which 
by any final touch he could still make improvement in it, 
fastened the little vellum square in silver casing cun- 
ningly elaborated with ornamentations of its own, and 
placed it in Cecile’s hand. Then he stood silently by, 
while she opened it before him. She had not yet seen 
any of the work, since from the first he had kept it from 
her gaze, lest she mught look upon it in its incomplete- 
ness, and so not approving it, carry her prejudices to the 
end. Would she now like it ? 

How, indeed, could she. withhold approval ? For, from 
her power of beauty aroused and enlivening every feature 
beneath the influence of her newfound assurances of hap- 
piness, Pere Rouflet had been enabled now as never be- 
fore, to redeem his recent failure and fix upon the vellum 
those richer traits of intelligence and soul which the most 
exact copy of mere tint or feature will not portray. 
Nay, more; he had hoped, at the most, to paint successfully 
the picture of a beautiful woman, with such qualities of 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


I2I 


grace as most especially belong to her ; and lo ! he 
had unwittingly transfered to that small portraiture, those 
manifestions of a living soul which he had blotted out 
from the broad glass above. Yet was the likeness not 
impaired. And as Pere Rouflet stood by, clearly now he 
saw the great result he had achieved. Even as by critical 
manipulation of the larger picture he had divested it of 
those beautiful attributes which had most truly graced it, 
so, in the contemplation of this lesser work, he had im- 
parted to it qualities which it did not rightfully possess, 
but which none the less added to its lifelike beauty. 

“And this is my face, dear Pere Rouflet ? ” she cried, 
after a moment of enraptured scrutiny. “ Nay, it cannot 
be. It is an angel’s face rather than the face of mortal 
woman. The Sainte-Clotilde your triumph ? Not so ; for 
it is this alone which, could it be known as well, should 
carry your name down to fame and honor. Surely the 
great Leonardo da Vinci himself would say the same. 
Ah, Pere Rouflet, were Sir Loys’ fealty not already 
almost restored to me, how could it fail to return, when 
he shall see this token of my own true love for him, with 
all this depth of passion and every quality of grace here 
pictured to the eye, as his destined bride’s own likeness 
and embodiment ? ” 



CHAPTER IX. 

M aking her final leave of Pere Rouflet, and hold- 
ing the little painting carefully and lovingly con- 
cealed in her bosom, guarding it there as a most precious 
jewel, Cecile passed from the church and took up her 
homeward route. And it so chanced that as she left 
the door, a small slight figure in coarse gown and with 
gray hood drawn half across the face came from the oppo- 
site direction, and meeting her, slowly crept by towards 
the church. The figure of a poorly clad and meekly- 
retiring woman, of whom the fair maid-of-honor would 
not naturally have taken note, or seeing whom would not 
have given to her a second thought. But now it chanced 
that, as the two passed, the gray hood happened to fall back 
disclosing the whole face ; and in its re-adjustment Man- 
on’s eyes were raised and for the moment fastened upon 
the upper portion of the great tower. This uplifted direct- 
ion of the gaze gave impress of devotion to the entire 
countenance ; and seeing it, Cecile paused for a moment 
and wondered when and where she had already met such 
features and expression. 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


123 


The gray hood was almost instantly drawn back into 
place, and Manon slowly passed on towards the church, 
noting not the neighborhood of the fair Cecile nor the 
inquiring gaze fixed steadily upon herself. Seeing not 
how Cecile, after an instant of uncertain, troubled re- 
flection, started with the force of a new perception, and in 
assurance that by the light of those uplifted eyes she recog- 
nized the original of that gloriously depicted face upon the 
great apse-window. Observing not how, as she herself 
crept onward, the figure of the beautiful maiden of the 
Court stood for a moment irresolute, watching her every 
step and movement, and striving to catch one more 
glance at the covered face, so as more fully to satisfy her- 
self that her suspicions of identity were not misplaced. 
Noting not how at the last, Cecile seemed to become 
well convinced, and with one parting glance of keen 
inquiry, turned once more away and pursued her home- 
ward route without further attempt at scrutiny. All 
this Manon did not see ; walking as she did with her gaze 
again bent towards the ground, and with no reason to sus- 
pect that her movements should ever have been watched by 
any one. But not so with Pere Rouflet, who, ever on the 
alert with dread of Manon’s recognition, now read aright 
and with distinctness every motion and expression of the 
maid-of-honor, and felt his heart sink within him, with 
apprehension of evil. It might be of little consequence, 
perhaps, that Cecile should discern the identity of Manon 
with the picture of the Sainte-Clotilde ; but what if 


124 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


through her, in some lover-like confidence, the Knight 
should learn that Manon was still living ? 

“ Why have you come hither ? ” Pere Rouflet cried, 
impulsively turning towards her as she closed the little 
door. He spoke not roughly, indeed, but with certain 
tone of impatience unusual with himself, so greatly was 
his spirit agitated with sudden dread of evil consequences. 
And what if Manon already knew all, and had now come 
hither to announce some new wish — to tell him, it might 
be, that she had discovered the whole secret, and would 
forego her late intent to retire from the world ? 

She on her part, innocent of any glimmer of the truth 
or expectation of change, heard his hurried salutation 
with dismay. She had as usual sunk into the great carved 
chair, and there half buried from sight by its expanding 
arms had earnestly lifted her eyes to his, awaiting the 
expected pleasant greeting. For months it had been her 
wont to look for little other kindly welcome in the world 
than his. For there were so few persons whom she knew ; 
and these could have little sympathy for her heart’s long- 
ings, and, having no knowledge of her history, could not 
talk with her as could Pere Rouflet. But with him it was 
so different. That little room cut off from the great nave 
of the cathedral had become through long association 
even as a home to her, a refuge from much cruel thought, 
and Pere Rouflet was her best and most faithful friend. 
He knew her life, her past regrets, and her need of 
sympathy ; and through his counsels she could often find 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


125 


comfort when the best attractions of the outer world only 
made her soul weary. More than all this, she had felt at 
times that her own poor powers of responsive sympathy 
were not unpleasing to him. All their talk was not about 
the past or concerning struggles of the heart. At times, 
surprising him at his labor with the brush and pallet, she 
could lean over and commend or make suggestion ; finding, 
even in her own uncultivated taste some quality of criticism 
that might prove of value to him. Under her observant and 
interested eye, the Saint Jerome had gradually grown into 
a more perfect and majestic beauty than it might have 
had with her assistance withheld ; and when in lighter 
moments, Pere Rouflet would sometimes betake himself 
again to small matters of parchment illumination, it was 
Manon’s taste that had often given grace to what other- 
wise would have been stiffly severe. Such companion- 
ship as this had not been without its effect in turning 
priest and penitent into trusting friends ; and to her as 
well as to Cecile he had loved to tell the traditions of 
the old church and explain the growth of its intricate 
architecture ; so that gradually it came to pass that the 
place seemed to mould both of them into some form of 
character suited to its own spirit, and she as well as he 
took tranquil enjoyment in its traditions and shadows. 
All this could not but tend to make her coming very 
' precious to Pere Rouflet ; and never before this, for many 
months past, had she failed to see how, at sight of her, 
the pleasant smile of welcome spread luminously upon 


126 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


his poor saddened face, and his bent figure seemed to 
grow alert with the energy of a more cheery life. But 
now — 

“Why is it that I am here ?” she responded. Her awak- 
ened anticipative smile faded slowly away, her head and 
arms drooped supinely, her whole figure seemed to shrink 
into still smaller proportions. “ I thought, Pere Rouflet — 
it seemed to me indeed that, inasmuch as I must so soon 
renounce the world — there are but three days now left me 
— it were not unbecoming that I should come and tell you 
all that I have lately done in bidding it farewell.” 

“And rightly so, Manon,” he responded feelingly, his 
heart at once released from apprehension by her words. 
No — it was impossible that she could have heard. 
“ Rightly so, Manon. Did I speak hastily or roughly 
in giving you greeting ? I meant it not. I was troubled 
for the moment with other matters, far away from our- 
selves, indeed ; and hardly for the instant did I realize 
your coming. Let me sit here now and listen, as I have 
been wont.” 

He drew his own chair more closely in front of her, so 
that he could gaze down intently into her brown eyes, 
often through long practice reading there her story before 
the words really came to her lips. And now, as with 
his great dread of discovery once more cast aside he was 
enabled to gather the wonted expression of welcome 
again' upon his face, so did her own crushed heart re- 
bound with pleasure ; and she told the story of her 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


127 


farewell to earth, and spoke of the days of her approach- 
ing seclusion from the world with as cheery a tone as 
though she were anticipating gladsome festival and 
revelry. 

“ A little farewell to earth and to all its outer ties, 
Pere Rouflet — into this have I been entering. For I 
must not leave the world too abruptly or disdainfully. 
There were those few persons, as I have said before, 
whom I had been wont to visit in their sickness and who 
had learned to look with pleasure upon my coming. To 
these, surely, I must say good bye.” 

“And rightfully indeed, Manon.” 

“ First then, was the poor girl whom so long I had been 
helping to nurse through her fever. About the doorway 
there was now, as heretofore, a cluster of young student 
friends ; — a wild and roisterous set, as we all know, 
giving themselves privileges denied to simple citizens 
and always turbulent with demands for more, — a noisy 
body, full of rough frolic, and not at all times respectful to 
the passer by ; and yet, Pere Rouflet, not altogether un- 
restrained or violent. P'or when I came into view, and 
they recognized my gray hood and possibly the kindly dis- 
position of my face beneath it, their loud jests were 
hushed into silence, and they fell quietly back on either 
hand to let me pass in, with a deep respect as though I 
were His Grace the Archbishop. 

“ ‘You will find Marie much better,’ one of them said 


to me. 


128 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


“So I passed through into the narrow hall, and thence 
into almost as narrow a room ; where, upon a small cot, the 
sick girl lay. At • a glance I saw that the fever had left 
her, and in the collected power of her bright eyes I read 
renewed life and strength. Beside the cot sat a student 
tending her ; a wild young fellow as any of those outside, 
to all appearance ; but here, tender, solicitous and true. 

“ ‘ She will now get well ; ’ he said. ‘And it might not 
have been so, but for your good care in the past.’ 

“ ‘And he, — lean over and listen to me,’ the girl whis- 
pered, blushing. ‘He says, — doth Jacque, — that when I 
am completely restored he will marry me. What think you 
of that, for pleasant tidings ? Is he not good ? ’ 

“ ‘ God also is good who has put it into his heart to do 
you that justice,’ I said, smoothing down her hair. ‘ And 
when I am gone, never to return, and you are happy, as I 
know you will be in his good and brave affection, you 
will sometimes think of me ? ’ 

“ It was thb farewell, Pere Rouflet, that I had promised 
myself; and when I spoke, how could I help feeling pleased 
to find how greatly I seemed beloved by all ? For this 
young girl wept sorely at hearing that this must be the last, 
and the student-crowd pressed tumultuously around with 
farewells almost as tearful as her own, and swore a little 
after their rough manner, and said I must not go, but 
that — and doubtless for the moment they meant it — they 
would -muster all the students into one mass and tear 
down the ill-omened convent to take me out again. And 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


129 


SO, with much wild but earnest token of attachment, I 
passed from their midst and was no longer seen by them.” 

“ It is a pleasant thing, indeed, to be so greatly cher- 
ished, were it only for a day,” Pere Rouflet said. ‘‘And 
after that — ” 

“ Thence, Pere Rouflet, down into a close ill-savored 
place beneath the ground, where no one ought ever to be 
forced to stay ; but where until now, had lived a little 
child whose true home should have been where green 
fields and running waters could be found. -Living there 
no longer, indeed ; for when I entered, I saw in place of 
the little arms extended towards me, only a motionless 
form upon a table in the centre. Holy Church had 
already been there, and had placed candles at the head and 
feet. Near by sat father and mother, both dull and sod- 
den in uncouth and partially drunken brutishness, remain- 
ing motionless with only half comprehended perception 
of something unusual having happened, but neither of 
them able intelligently to realize their loss. 

“‘This morning, — before we were awake,’ whimpered 
the woman, making feeble motionings with her hand 
towards the little body. 

“ Leaning over, I kissed the still smiling lips of the 
child, pulled my hood more closely across my face to 
hide the tears I could not keep back, and ascended to the 
street. That was there my sole farewell ; for what need 
to tell my new intent to those brutish parents who could 
not comprehend me, or if perchance they did, would not 


130 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


miss my coming in the future ? To the child alone, who 
had so much loved me, must be my good bj” 

“You are right indeed, ManOn. To the child alone.” 

“ Then, Pere Rouflet, through a tangle of narrow streets 
to a tall building upon a dark corner. There I climbed 
the stairs into the fourth story, — it is becoming a hard 
task for me to climb so far, — and then knocked at a 
door, which was at once opened to me. It was to visit 
Barbloche the wounded man-at-arms that I had come, 
and I had expected to find him still helpless upon his 
couch. But men are not like poor weak girls, to lie long 
in bed moaning over their hurts. It was a sharp cut that 
Barbloche had received, and possibly not unjustly, seeing 
that he is over quarrelsome by nature, and a King’s guards- 
man had done him that injury in pure defense. Be that 
as it may, the hurt was given to a rugged frame, and the 
wound had healed more quickly than might have been 
supposed, and it was Barbloche himself that opened the 
door to me. 

“ ‘You are welcome, — ever welcome, little Manon,’ he 
said. For so, in his rough fondness, he had become ac- 
customed to call me. Wnd but for expecting you, I know 
not but that I should have been away before this, in search 
of a master, and of brave adventure with him. But you 
know that I could not go and not say good bye to my 
faithful little nurse.’ 

“‘No, Barbloche, nor could I so part from you,’ I said. 
‘ I have been ill ; and though at times abroad, have not at 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


I31 

all seasons been able to mount these stairs so far. And I 
thought I should find you still in need of much more 
nursing.’ 

“At that he smiled somewhat disdainfully, and twisted 
his tangled beard awry, as he sought proper reply. 

“‘Pah !’ he said. ‘When the skin unites again, why 
should Barbloche not consider himself all right ? I re- 
member, little Manon, that once at siege of castle in the 
Flanders country, I was struck on the head by a stone from 
a catapult and knocked senseless as a log, and truly it 
was thought my poor brains were out. Yet for all that, I 
was about as usual the very next day ; and the day after 
that, was among the first to enter the castle and share 
the plunder. A man-at-arms has a cat’s life ; and what 
more than that can be said 

“ ‘ Since that is so, give God the glory of it, good Bar- 
bloche,’ I said. 

“ ‘Yes; if I chance to find time for priestly thoughts.' 
And you, — you have been ill, you say ? Stand now to the 
light and let me look at you a little closer. Careless as I 
am, my mind misgives me about you.’ 

“ Thereupon, with kindly yet powerful grasp that would 
brook no denial, he moved me in front of the window 
where the sunlight might fall upon me. Thus disposed, 
and in that full glare, even his unobservant nature could 
not fail to read aright the adverse signs placed by sickness 
upon me. My hollowed cheeks, — my wasted arm peeping 
from beneath the sleeve now all too broad for it. — these 


132 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


surely are indications that even a child might under- 
stand, I think. He drew his hand across his eyes, and 
coughed once or twice. 

“ ‘There is smoke in the room,’ he muttered. ‘Well, 
child, you say truly ; you are not well. And yet you 
might be made better if you would go the right way 
about it. What do you purpose doing ? ’ 

“ ‘ First, Barbloche, to say farewell to you.’ 

“ With that he burst out into loud campaigning oath. . 

‘ ‘ Nay, that you shall never do,’ he exclaimed. ‘What ! 
shall there, then, be no such thing as gratitude known in 
all the world ? Because I am strong again, should that be 
reason why I must never see you more ? It may be that 
you must go hence and nurse others, as you have taken care 
of me ; but for all that, must I never hereafter know any- 
thing about your coming and your going ? And this, 
when I owe you so much ? For know that I was jesting 
when I spoke about my wound being such a trifle. How- 
ever well it may now be healed, it was deep and broad at the 
time of it ; and but for you, I should now be sped, I think. 
But let me hear further. You spoke about farewell, to 
which of a certainty I could never assent. What further ?’ 

“ ‘ I said farewell, Barbloche, seeing that it must needs 
be so. In three days, I leave the world to enter into con- 
vent ; where — ’ 

“ ‘ Where you would die within a month,’ he interrupted. 

‘ You that need so much the fresh air and the sunlight, 
even as any one else needs food, to shut yourself between 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


133 


walls and to patter aves and credos and no longer to look 
out upon the good world, or those in it who have gained 
from you so much of their own sunshine and must 
perforce at times still wish to look upon you. Now, 
listen to me, little Manon.’ 

“ ‘Well, Barbloche,’ I said. 

“ ‘ There are now sewn up in this very doublet of 
mine,’ he continued, ‘ twelve broad gold pieces, doubloons 
of Spain. It is no great fortune, to be sure ; but they 
would last for a few months if carefully expended, and 
that is. sufficient for your behest. If spent by myself 
alone, they would but last a week or so, seeing that they 
would disappear in drink and all wild revelry ; but if 
spent by both of us and more especially for your sake, 
they would suffice for many times that length, it being 
then the case that I would not drink a drop, so as to save 
the gold more carefully for your needs. Go now with me ; 
and I, treating you like a child of my own and with all 
reverence and respect, will take you to some mountain 
nook where you shall taste the fresh air and gather new 
health. What say you ? It will not be for yourself 
alone, but for myself as well. Should I not do a prudent 
thing, in saving my good nurse for myself ? It might 
be that before long, I shall get another sword-thrust or 
probing with lance; and then, who else than yourself to 
cure me again ? So you see, I am like the rest of the 
world and very selfish at heart, after all.’ 

“ So he spoke, dear Pere Rouflet, trying to conceal the 


134 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


generosity of his purpose beneath mere appearance of 
self-interest.” 

“ And you, Manon, — what did you say to that ? ” 
Pere Rouflet demanded, startled into sudden alarm. 

“ Nay, what could I say other than I did ? I told him it 
could not, — must not be. That my word was otherwise 
pledged, and that I must not break away from it. That 
the retirement into the convent was no sudden unreflect- 
ing resolve of mine, but one that had ripened in my mind 
with much deep consideration, and that I knew it had led 
me to my true vocation. That if ever it need be, some 
other one not less tender and true would nurse him in my 
stead ; and doubtless as well as I had done, would help 
keep his generous heart alive in his brave breast. This 
I told him ; — but oh ! Pere Rouflet.” 

“Speak on, Manon.” And he felt his face flush with 
new apprehension. Her words of refusal seemed scarcely 
a refusal at all, such a longing, regretful tone lingered in 
that last exclamation. 

“ What indeed can I say but this ? If I had not already 
given so solemnly my word, — or if I had strength remain- 
ing to engage in some newer, brighter life than that I have 
for so long known, — or if there were any chance that a 
different life, even if bringing health to my worn body 
might give hope unto my heart, — Oh, dear friend ! it was a 
sore trial, indeed, for me to refuse. I had not always lived 
in cities. I had at times breathed the air of the open 
fields : but I had never been upon the mountains. I had 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


135 


once seen them from a distance, and even then had felt a 
longing for near acquaintance with their sunny slopes and 
cooling shades. To think that now, af this last day, the 
offer of that great joy had come to me, and that I must 
put it all away ! Why, at the very thought of what 
was now within my reach, the blood flowed faster 
through my veins and new health seemed to abound 
within me. How then, if I were actually to stand far up 
where the fresh breezes — ” 

“ It was no satisfying, healthful longing that you felt ! ” 
cried Pere Rouflet, in increasing vehemence of alarm. “ It 
was the cruel tempting of the fiend ! Have I not already 
warned you against him ? Yield not, Manon ; nor even 
think that you have come near yielding, but with all your 
strong resolution, beat him dov/n, lest haply he betray 
you in the end ! ” 

“ I know not, — I know not, indeed, Pere Rouflet, 
whether or no it may be as you say. I am loth to think 
that any fiend could rest in the generous soul of Bar- 
bloche, to cause through him that subtle temptation of 
myself. Rather in my own heart must have lurked the 
tempter, w’hispering to me for my soul’s hurt, that I should 
not regret a boon that in itself was purely intended. But 
be of ease. I have driven off the tempter, be he fiend or only 
the impulse of my own evil inclination. And doing so, I 
have not done injustice to my strength of purpose. For 
it was not merely the thought of sunlit slopes and cooling 
breezes that in the end I learned I must resist. There is 
more than that for me to tell, dear Pere Rouflet.” 



CHAPTER X. 

O NCE more Pere Rouflet sank back supinely in his 
seat ; and it seemed to him as though now his face 
was flushed with deeper tinge of apprehension than at any 
time before. Was it ever to be thus, that each moment 
of enforced quietude of soul should be succeeded by some 
scarcely defined, yet none the less startling terror ? W as 
it then a real thing, — that instinct which, when Manon first 
entered, had whispered to him that she came with evil 
tidings ? If it were indeed so, let him now know it without 
further delay. And he sat gazing into her face — moving 
not and uttering no unneedful word, lest by disT:racting 
her thoughts he might hinder what he must needs hear to 
the very end. 

“ There is more to come ? ” he merely said. “ Then 
speak.” 

She, upon her part sat gazing down into her lap, seem- 
ing now reluctant, though having advanced so far, to go 
onward to the end. For a moment she remained silent, 
listlessly toying with her fingers, hesitating how to clothe 
her thoughts with words, or whether she should not even 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


^37 


now forbear further confession. Then at last she began, 
but slowly and with desultory movement, as though she 
would still protract her story and give herself time to 
withhold it altogether. With something of that purpose, 
perhaps, — the intent to gain a minute or two more of 
thought, — she plunged not suddenly into her narration, 
but began far back, leading gently up towards it. 

“ Therefore it was I accepted not the offer of good 
Barbloche,” she said. “But I told him that if he wished 
to make me think of him with pleasure when I was gone — 

“ ‘ Speak on, little Manon,’ he said. 

“ ‘ It is this,’ I responded. ‘ Why must you be man-at- 
arms at all ? Why be ever putting yourself where thrust 
of sword or probe of spear thus endangers the life ? ’ 

“ ‘ Surely the King and France must have soldiers,’ he 
said. 

“ ‘Wes, Barbloche, the King and France — and let it be 
for defence alone. But you have not served only these. 
You have been soldier of fortune, and at times have sold 
your service to other lands and princes, and have even 
waged wrongful war over much of Europe under com- 
mand of Freebooter Captains. This, surely, is not the 
true career for such a generously minded man as yourself ? 
Undue blood and carnage should not be the pastime of 
your life ? ’ 

“ ‘ It may be true as you say,’ he responded, looking 
down. ‘ It may be well to wage war in defence of King 
and country and not for other leaders. Many a time have 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


13^ 

I bestowed hard knocks upon heads that I had never be- 
fore seen, and that belonged not to enemies of mine. 
Indeed, it seems strange to be so blindly led into the field 
as to be forced to put out the life of one who, at any 
other time, might have proved good comrade at a tavern 
revel. Yet what would you have ? So goes the world. 
And if princes and knights of high degree who, when 
at home, consort with cardinals and bishops, do not learn 
their duty better, what can one expect from a simple 
man-at-arms who is not supposed to think at all, and who 
for priest sees only wayside shaveling, and has no castle 
or tenants of his own to give him fair support ; and if he 
ever has a gold-piece to spend upon his pleasures, must 
first take it from the pouch of some one else, of whom, for 
such purpose, he has made himself an enemy ? ’ And 
what answer could I make to all that, Pere Rouflet ? ” 

“ I know not, — it is the way of the world, that is all,” 
Pere Rouflet responded moodily, certainly not now dis- 
posed to enter into argument about questions which might 
never at any time have suggested themselves to him. 
“ And what then ? Go on now, to the end.” 

“ ‘Therefore you see, little Manon,’ Barbloche continued, 
‘ how closely a man is encompassed by the circumstances 
in which he is born and how difficult it must be to 
wander away from them. All that I could do for you, I 
would. If it would make you any happier in your con- 
vent life, — since you will insist upon going thither, — that 
I should drink less and never cut down a man without 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


139 


being able to show good reason for it, why be it so. To 
this I might add, if so it seems proper to you, that at 
times I will give a piece of gold to Holy Church as alms, 
and myself mutter an ‘ Ave ’ when going into affray or bat- 
tle. What more than that can I be expected to do ? It 
seems so easy for you, who have never suffered any temp- 
tation in life or known what it is to depart from what your 
missal or breviary enjoins upon you, — so easy, I say, to 
turn aside into the ways of a quiet life. But if you only 
knew — ’ 

Nay, Barbloche, my friend,’ I interrupted, ‘do I not 
know it all? You believe that only this straight and 
guiltless manner of life has ever been before me. Learn, 
therefore, — and I tell you this only for your own instruc- 
tion, as showing what others have done, — learn that I too 
have known temptation, — that I am now working out my 
redemption for the bitter past, — that it has been no more 
easy for me to turn aside and tread in a new path of life 
than it would be for you.’ 

“ ‘ Not altogether so, indeed, little Manon,’ he said. 
‘ To women there is at least, the new path laid out and 
ready to be trodden, if so be they have the will and reso- 
lution to go therein. Else, what are convents for, — and 
advice of priests given to them more readily than to us, — 
and good works around Holy Church that only women 

may attempt ? But as for us men-at-arms Listen ! I 

had a comrade once, who did as you would advise, — 
abandoned practice of arms and thought to live only by 


140 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


peaceful pursuits. Even as I would have done in such 
case, he wasted all his substance, then nearly starved, 
then took to robbing on the King’s highway for a living. 
A tolerable profession, after all, even that may be, if well 
conducted ; only that he made mistake and robbed an 
Archbishop, thinking that it was some one else, and was 
broken upon the wheel the day thereafter. Whether was 
that better than a sound blow from battle-axe or mace 
that can be felt but once ? ’ 

“ ‘ But still, Barbloche — ’ 

“‘Nay, nay, good little Manon, shake not your head. 
The world is made so, and we cannot help it. To me 
there can be no other pursuit than that of arms, seeing 
that I have been brought up to it and know no other. A 
poor end must come of it, you will say ? Why, so it will 
be, of course ; death not in the soft bed, as priests and 
traders die, but on the bare earth and by hard knocks or 
thrusts of steel. What then ? All men must die at the 
last, and scarcely does it matter when or how, so long as 
it be honorable. Therefore let the merry game of life go 
round in the same old fashion, and each one abide in his 
own place for which he has been intended. Soon will I 
be in the field again, sacking castles and what not, if it 
may chance that I can find some valiant and enterprising 
captain to engage my services. One I have in my mind 
under whom I served in Italy ; other than whom were he 
now alive — ’ ” 

“You are coming to it now,” Pere Rouflet muttered, 
scarcely above his breath. 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


141 

“ Yes, Pere Rouflet, I am coming to it now, as you per- 
ceive. ‘ Other than whom, were he now alive ’ — so said 
Barbloche, ‘ I would not look at. A title his, when at 
Court, little Manon ; but with us he was only the brave 
Captain Loys de Martelle. Left dying on the field in 

Italy ’ Oh, Pere Rouflet ! ” continued Manon looking 

up wildly and despairingly, wringing her hands the while. 
“ Can you not see it all, — why at the end, I was more 
sorely tempted than I had ever been before ? Not now 
merely the picturings of bright sunshine and the cooling 
shades of the mountain ranges to stimulate me ! But be- 
yond and better than all that, to have the kind Barbloche 
at my side to tell me about Loys ! In what knightly man- 
ner he had ever borne himself, though of that we must 
even now feel well assured ! How he looked and thought ; 
and how at some time he may have given utterance to a 
secret memory, and that memory have chanced to be 
about poor, hapless Manon ! How in his sleep he may 
have called my name, showing that in his heart there was 
no relinquishment of me ! How that in some moment of 
a full heart’s outpouring, — such as might well happen dur- 
ing period of loneliness, so that he would be moved to 
confidence even in the rough man-at-arms riding at his 
side, — he may have spoken about the past and given utter- 
ance to one bright story in his past life ; not mentioning 
my name, perhaps, but leaving it to be inferred that there 
was one whom he had loved and who had deserted him 
with seeming heartlessness, yet whom he freely forgave ! 
^ow that — ■” 


142 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


“ Enough ! Enough of all this ! ” cried Pere Rouflet, 
rising from his chair in sudden access of jealous indigna- 
tion. “ Have I not said, long ago and often, that such 
thoughts and memories as these must be forever put away 
from out your heart ? Is it your part in life any longer 
to let your mind weave itself around past scenes, seeing 
that all your care must now be to fit yourself for Heaven, 
forsaking, therefor, every earthly tie or even recollection 
of any such ? No more of such vain repinings and re- 
grets — no more ! ” 

Speaking thus, and with unaccustomed passion of vehe- 
mence, he strode to the further end of the room ; then 
turning, saw that she too had arisen, and that now she 
stood gazing upon him, her whole face kindling with every 
expression of indignation. Once more, indeed, it had 
happened that, with cruel power of tyranny, he had ven- 
tured to order too rudely her unquestioning obedience. 
Once more, forgetting that there yet remained matters 
upon which she could claim a will of her own, he had let 
himself be roused into injustice and thereby brought upon 
him her swift rebuke and rebellion. 

Surely you are exacting and unfair ! ” she said, cling- 
ing to the tall chair for better support, her whole frame 
seeming to dilate into unaccustomed strength, while she 
poured forth her indignant protest. “ You would take 
away the very little of life that remains to me, seclud- 
ing me not merely from the world’s joys, but even from 
any pleasant recollection of the world ! Surely the good 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


143 


God himself could scarcely exact such sacrifice as that ! 
If so, who is there who could hope to be free from sin ? 
Is it not something that there should be the will to ab- 
jure ? Must it be called of none effect without the power 
also to forget ? Do you think that even in the convent 
itself there are no hearts silently breaking with vain and 
hopeless regrets, even while the fingers seem most busily 
employed fashioning the altar’s lace ? If so, then can I 
not be fitted to join that company of the elect, seeing that 
I could never hope to leave my memories of the world 
all outside the grated porch.” 

And once more, as before, Pere Rouflet saw that he 
had gone too far, and sank powerless and baffled beneath 
her indignation. To himself was now the subjection of 
spirit as he listened to her impetuous speech ; to her the 
victory. 

“ I have done wrong, perhaps, in that I have sought too 
closely to restrain you,” he said, returning to his place in 
front of her. “And yet, Manon, I meant it all for good.” 

“ It may be so, — it may be so, Pere Rouflet,” she re- 
joined. “It may be only your ignorance of the heart 
that has led you into such spirit of exaction. I will not 
say that it is not. But this I must maintain, that if I 
surrender my whole power of action, my thoughts must 
still go free to wander where they list. Be it in your 
eyes a sin or not, never will I think it wrong to cherish 
my loving memories of Toys de Martelle. Shall I tell 
you what I did two nights ago ? I passed the convent 


144 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


where, as you must remember, once I stood outside the 
grating with my hand upstretched seeming there to feel 
some instinctive perception of Loys, as though his spirit 
were hovering near me. And the thought came to me to 
try whether in similar circumstance that feeling would 
come to me once more.” 

“ Well, Manon ? ” 

“ I raised my hand, until it touched the great brazen 
bar, and I bowed my head and waited. The darkness 
was all around me, there was no one near to interrupt 
me, there was nothing to hinder me from hearing any 
whisper from the spirit world. But this time, all was 
still, unchanging and desolate. There came nothing of 
that former instinct of neighborhood of the dead, that 
had partly affrighted me, but much the more had com- 
forted me. All now was loneliness and desolation.” 

“ It was as it should have been,” cried Pere Rouflet, 
his face brightening into serenity, from his momentary 
fear of new complications. “ Did I not heretofore tell 
you aright, when I said that it was the foul fiend coming 
to instil vain longings into your soul and steal away your 
peace ? But at last he has left you, — so far at least you 
have conquered. — Ah, Manon,” he continued, more with 
the air of suppliant before her, than of spiritual father 
giving counsel, “ believe now that you have only to go 
on and perfect the good work of your recovery and 
renewed peace of mind. A few years seclusion from 
the world, — what is it ? What value do I put upon 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


145 


the world, — I who can go hither and thither in it and 
yet prefer this solitude and refuge from its wickedness and 
cares ? And if not I, why should you dread retirement 
from it ? Its wickedness and care, did I say ? The 
latter might easily be borne, indeed. But for the former, 
— the turmoil and bloodshed, the lust and robbery, the 
avarice and blasphemy, — how can you truly estimate the 
wickedness of the world it is your privilege to flee from, 
or rightly compass its power ? Not merely in far-off 
places where crime can run rampant in defiance of the 
law, but even here, beneath the very shadow of Holy 
Church. Look around even now, Manon, and see for 
yourself what is this world that you can so easily desert.” 

With that he drew her to the window and threw it 
open, so that they could gaze outside, unfettered by the ' 
small colored panes. And as they stood side by side 
and gazed without, giving more heed perhaps to what 
was spread out before them than ever before, this was 
what at first they saw. 

The cathedral stood upon a little paved square, the 
larger portion of which could be seen from the open 
window in the studio. At one side of the square ran a 
close ■ high stone wall, broken only in the centre by a 
heavily ironed gate-way, and rising at the further end into 
a scarcely higher building, almost as blank and window- 
less as the wall itself. Within were courtyard and garden, 
plainly denoted by the branches and tree-tops trimmed 
into artificial regularity and projected against the sky. 


146 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


This building and enclosure were the convent into which 
Manon was to ask admittance. Upon the other side of 
the square was a line of little shops, dreary and dis- 
cordant in appearance. One was a drinking shop, before 
which at that very moment a group of men were quar- 
relling. Another was an armorer’s workshop, and from 
it came the sullen discordant clang of beaten iron. At 
the front were arranged hideous weapons of warfare, — 
two-handed swords and roughly knobbed maces and 
weighty battle-axes, and among them steel corslets, 
gauntlets and helmets — some of them new and brightly 
burnished, and one or two displaying savage dents, in 
token of the rough usage they could endure without suc- 
cumbing. At the further end, the square narrowing into 
a close street — so close, indeed, as to be a mere lane, 
bordered by tall houses of ruinous aspect, leaning at cer- 
tain points so nearly across, that it seemed as though they 
would soon meet and shut out even the little sunlight 
that there belonged. A street which spoke not of ease 
and affluence and home-joys, but rather of disease and 
filth and poverty, and also gave suggestions of past siege 
in which a squalid, reckless population might nurse their 
misery into demoniac hate and pour down molten lead 
upon invading force below. In the midst of the square 
itself, a great stone scaffold where stood the public 
pillory, and where, doubtless, execution to the death had 
often been done, with cruel torture. Above all, a thick 
vail of clouds, shutting out the rich sunlight and throw- 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


47 


ing gloom upon the spirits even of such as might struggle 
to be cheerful. 

“ Look at the scene before you, Manon,” Pere Rouflet 
said. “ And what other thing, even in the shadow of this 
church, do you see except sin and suffering ? Guilt and 
poverty and wretchedness, — anger and bickering, — every 
trade devoted to the maiming of men’s bodies, or to the 
destruction of their souls, — amid all, dreadful engines for 
the punishment of crime ; the only pleasant feature of it 
all, that part upon the right where the leafy trees wave 
above the convent walls, and overshadow with protecting 
arms the peace and quietude and innocence of those 
within.” 

But it happened that even while Pere Rouflet was 
speaking, a gleam of sunlight managed to pierce through a 
broken rift of cloud ; and almost at once widening from 
its first slender thread fell broadcast, like a golden mantle 
over the whole scene below. And with it, all things at 
the instant seemed to come into joy and cheeriness. The 
men at the little drinking shop looked up, ceased from 
their quarrelling and entered into rapturous fraternity 
*^over new draughts. Out from the armorer’s shop the 
workmen poured to gaze for a moment at the fresh 
sunlight ; and then stood silent and reflective at the 
doorway ; a group of meek and pleasant faced men, as it 
chanced, whose very peacefulness of aspect seemed to 
affect the warlike implements hanging on either side and 
charge them with merely innocent purpose. Away off 


148 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


down the narrow street beyond the square, the old tumble 
down houses took on quaint and picturesque shades 
which brightened up the half effaced gloom of poverty 
and squalor ; and now the wretched population swarmed 
forth from their kennels to bask in the bright sun- 
light and enjoy a momentary forgetfulness of their rags. 
There was still the stone pillory in the middle of the 
square ; but now that no criminal stood there to face the 
howling of the mob, who could tell from anything it dis- 
played, its real purpose ? And lo ! while Pere Rouflet 
and Manon gazed, a group of gypsy-jugglers clad in pic- 
turesque trappings of gold thread and crimson velvet, 
emerged from a side avenue, halted beneath the pillory 
and began their customary performance : around whom 
swarmed a motley crowd, — men and women a few, and 
children by the score, who with joyous animation gath- 
ered closely about and climbed to the very summit of the 
pillory, festooning it with merry faces. 

“ Nay,” said Manon. “ It may be that I am less de- 
vout in heart than I had thought, or with too little real 
knowledge of the world ; but be that as it may, I cannot 
see all things with your purer eyes. I see, rather, that 
the earth is very beautiful and fair ; and that if there be 
much poverty and disease, there is a brightness often 
showered down from Heaven to cheer the heart and 
make amends for all else. I see that the rough quarrel- 
ing of men can lead to fraternal greeting, — that even the 
dread instruments of the law are not at all times used, 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


149 


and may be turned sometimes to cheery purpose. Amid 
the whole scene, I can see nothing of gloom or sadness ; 
unless it be those tree tops lifted above the convent wall 
like sentinels set over prisoners within, and speaking a 
tale of listless silence and captivity. — Oh, kind Pere Rou- 
flet ! good and faithful friend of mine ! Must this, in- 
deed, be my only fate ? ” 

In that newly awakened anguish of her heart appealing 
for some different brighter lot than that now marked out 
for her, she forgot for the moment that it had been of 
her own choosing. She had imagined until that instant, 
that it could be in the power of no temptation longer to 
move her, so fully composed and peaceful did her heart 
seem to be at last. There might at times, indeed, have 
been much harsh schooling of her unquiet spirit, but she 
had believed she had at last allayed its truant longings. 
Some chance revolt at idle moments ; but for the most 
])art, rest. The convent doors seemed already opening 
wide to receive her, and in a few more hours she had 
deemed that perfect tranquility for her perturbed soul 
would come. But now, above and before her, was the 
bright sunlight, filling her as well as others with hopeful 
aspirations ; and amid its brightness, the open convent 
door seemed very dark and cheerless. 

“ Is it yet too late, dear Pere Rouflet ? ” she cried, in 
a frenzy of impatient longing for a better fate. “ See ! I 
cast myself upon your kindness to tell me that there is 
something more suitable and needful for me to do. Oh 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


150 

the sunlight and the soft cooling breezes of the far off 
mountains, — never have they appealed to me as now ! 
Oh the rich radiance and beauty of the wide world, — 
never did I seem to love it as at this minute ! Would 
that I were a man to take my own course and wander at 
will throughout it ! What though it has its troubles and 
iniquities ? Does it not have its joys and charities as 
well } You, Pere Rouflet, may choose to pass your days 
in gloomy cloister, — I, if a man, would take up other 
life than that. To be even a beggar at the roadside, so 
that I might still bask in the blessed sun ; — to loiter at 
ease from one land to another, even as those gypsy jug- 
glers ; — better yet, to pass with trumpet-blast and with 
gay company of liege men, like yonder Knight, who now, 
— who coming hither now — ” 

She ceased, the words dying away between her palsied 
lips. Convulsively her hands grasped the window mul- 
lion to save herself from falling, as with whitened face 
she turned her agonized gaze from coming Knight to 
Priest now scarcely less pale than herself. For almost at 
the same moment, Pere Rouflet had seen Sir Toys, — 
riding slowly upon richly caparisoned steed across the 
square and toward the church. 

“ It is he, — Sir Toys ! ” exclaimed Manon, at last gain- 
ing words. “ Do you not see him ? ” 

For a moment longer Pere Rouflet faltered ; then be- 
neath the presence of that immediate necessity for action 
recovered himself with a strength of purpose that he could 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


I5I 

not possibly have believed lay in him. And what now 
could he say longer to her about demon influences ; when, 
at the instant, under the spur of need, he yielded himself 
in willing subjection to one fiendish prompting ? 

“ Who, Manon ? ” he said, speaking with unusual calm- 
ness. 

“ Look ! Loys himself ! Riding on his steed as though 
to meet the King’s Court ! Plumes upon his bonnet and 
gold spurs upon his heels, as even in the fullest glory of 
his manhood and grace ! And we had thought him slain ! 
See ; now he passes close beside the church ! It is he, — 
it is himself at last ! ” 

“ What mean you, Manon ? Are you indeed distraught ? 
Is it this servitor you speak of, now riding across the 
square upon his ragged mule, with baskets at his side and 
oaken cudgel under his arm ? ” 

“ A servitor ? I know not whom Look ! He stops 

and speaks for a moment to his esquire on foot, — then 
rides on, again ! ” 

“ I see, only, Manon, that the servitor draws the bridle 
upon his mule, chaffers an instant with a bystander, — 
then pursues his way as before.” 

Manon turned, and with affrighted pale face gazed 
upon Pere Rouflet. A moment more, and he would have 
quailed and broken down beneath her imploring yet 
searching gaze. But while the scrutiny lasted, he main- 
tained his air of resolute innocent composure ; and now 
with convulsive weeping, Manon sank upon her knees, 


152 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


“ I see it all ! ” she sobbed. ‘ I am indeed distraught or 
driven by the power of some foul fiend which would mis- 
lead me, in that I let my wandering senses imagine what 
does not exist. For I know, dear Pere Rouflet, that you 
of all others would not deceive me. Alas ! why or how 
should I dare to talk about sunny fields and mountain 
slopes, — I who am only fit for seclusion from the world ? 
Take me, and place me in that convent gloom, whence I 
can no more come forth. There, in that darkness and 
obscurity let me try to find present peace and await the 
more perfect quiet of the tomb." 



CHAPTER XI. 

P ERE ROUFLET lifted her tenderly from the 
ground, — pitying her distress, yet not with sufficient 
power of pity to undo his work. At the moment, in- 
fluenced only by the great dread of losing the benefit of 
what he had already accomplished, it seemed to him that 
he had done only what was necessary, — that it was a trial 
forced upon him by fate and not to be avoided, and that 
it must be persevered in to the very end. Why now 
hesitate or relent ? Why weakly give the rein to a false 
compassion ? In three days Manon would be within 
the convent walls ; and her peace of mind, hitherto so 
grievously threatened, would be assured to the last and 
beyond recall. There remained now only Sir Toys to be 
directed and influenced towards the one wise purpose. 

There was no time to lose. Sir Toys had already rid- 
den past the cathedral, but at any moment he might 
return. Indeed, it was near the hour at which he was 
wont to enter and gaze upon the picture in that constant 
effort to strengthen his allegiance to his lawful love. 
Therefore Pere Rouflet now lifted Manon from the floor ; 



154 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


and seeing her restored, with a few hurried words of 
mingled consolation and advice bade her farewell. He 
would see her again, — he would then be prepared to 
counsel her more fully, — meanwhile let her pass her time 
at home in devout thought and not too needlessly wander 
into the open street. So, closing the door upon her, with 
careful scrutiny lest Loys de Martelle might once more 
be riding past, he entered the main body of the building 
and stood before the painting. 

It was later than he had previously labored, and at any 
moment, though the cathedral at that moment happened 
to be empty, some worshipper might enter and surprise 
him at his task. That, indeed, would matter little ; since 
what he might be seen doing would carry little compre- 
hension into the ordinary mind. What he now dreaded 
most was interruption from Sir Loys. And so it hap- 
pened, that almost at the instant Pere Rouflet appeared 
with brush in hand before the picture of Sainte-Clotilde, 
he heard the sound of hoofs outside, then their sudden 
stoppage and then again the rattle of spurs and sword as 
the rider dismounted and strode into the church. There 
was little time left for thought ; and with a muttered 
prayer for guidance, — an invocation to the Saint herself, 
by some strange inconsistency, for aid in her own dis- 
figurement, — he passed his brush almost recklessly across 
the picture, — a dot here and a shadow there, laid on in 
almost random desperation ; — then hastily stole away to 
the front. 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


fS5 

From that little distance now gazing upon his work, 
Pere Rouflet stood fairly transfixed at the result. It 
seemed as though hours of study could not have per- 
fected his designs as fully as in that one moment of 
careless unreflecting labor. There was still the whole 
likeness, as before, — still unimpaired, the stately attitude 
all aglow with gold and purple. But the few attributes 
of love and grace remaining up to that moment, — what 
had become of them ? Where were now the sweet 
serenity, the calm benignity, the abounding spirit of for- 
giveness ? Whence this new coldness and impassiveness 
of gaze, — this almost sneering turn of lip in seeming 
disparagement of faith, — repellant, even, of all earthly 
appeal ? Pere Rouflet stood appalled. Had Heaven 
indeed aided him ? Had the Saint willingly consented 
to this mockery of all her loving attributes ? Or had he 
been purposely led into some dreadful excess of irrev- 
ence, until he had been incited to overdo his task and 
make himself not only an outcast from Heaven’s love, 
but also a victim of insulted man’s just hate ? 

Anxiously Pere Rouflet listened to Sir Loys’ heavy 
tramp upon the pavement, ceasing only when he stood 
still at his accustomed place ; tremulously he awaited a 
loud burst of anger, provoked by aroused realization of 
the long-studied deception. But the expected outbreak 
did not come. Only a fixed and troubled gaze, more 
disturbed now than ever before, — only new flickering 
waves of uneasy doubt, which however, as the Priest 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


156 

watched him, seemed to resolve themselves at last into 
form of certainty. Then a heavy sigh ; and catching 
sight of the other, Sir Loys beckoned his approach. 

“ I can no longer have a doubt, good Pere Rouflet,” 
he said. “ For many days past, I have looked into my 
own heart and studied all its depths, and now the truth 
is assured to me as well as though I read it upon 
emblazoned parchment. Hear me, therefore. I do 
not often go to the confessional, — it may be that being 
no better than what I am, it is most fitting that I should 
stay away. But there are moments when the heart is so 
charged with the weight of its own emotion, that one 
must tell his story to another, or else, perhaps, die from 
the unrelieved burden. To you, therefore, I now speak ; 
— not as to Priest, but as I would confide myself to a 
friend, had I my nearest, dearest friend at hand.” 

“Speak on, then, Sir Knight, if so you insist.” 

“ I do insist ; and now listen. When a few days ago, I 
told you about my friend who had loved the original of 
yonder face, I basely uttered a deceit. It was about 
myself alone that I then spoke. It was I who had loved 
the girl,— had thought to have forgotten her— had all the 
while unwittingly kept a corner for her in my heart,— 
had felt my affection for her revive at the first glimpse of 
her gold and purple representation. I surprise you greatly 
in the avowal, do I not ? ” 

“ There are many things coming to us and bringing 
surprise,” answered Pere Rouflet earnestly. “Goon,— 


UNDER THE BELLS. 157 

let me know more, if there be more which you wish me to 
hear.” 

Speaking thus, he gazed more intently than ever before 
at the young Knight, wondering what manner of person this 
might be who could think to have so easily deceived one 
whose business it was to watch the working of the human 
heart, and with keen analysis to separate falsehood from 
truth. And gazing, he realized for the first time the per- 
fection of that manly beauty which could so readily and 
abundantly attract the love of high and low born, alike. 
Youlhfulness and vitality,— grace of form and nobility of 
expression, — culture, intellect, and impress of lofty daring, 
— all were there exemplified ; — the very simplicty of heart 
which would credit others with too easy and undoubting 
faith now pictured upon Sir Loys’ countenance in open, 
radiant ingenuousness. What wonder that the heart which 
once looked there for its resting place should pine for a 
return, and find that the outer world was all too narrow 
and cheerless ! 

“ I will go on, Pere Rouflet, since so you ask. Though 
look you, it is only a poor tale of human love and may not 
interest you. I know well that I ought not to forget how 
little, either by profession or nature, you can care for 
such matters, — looking upon them rather as the foolish 
eccentricities of mere worldings.” 

“ Fear not my lack of interest. Sir Knight. I would 
hear it all.” And Pere Rouflet winced at the other’s 
words ; even as once before he had suffered at the cold- 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


‘58 

ness and innocence imparted to him, his heart all the 
while in raging tumult of passionate despair. 

“ And yet, Pere Rouflet, what after all is there for me 
to tell, other than what I have ? It was myself and not a 
friend of mine who had loved the girl, — in that, the whole 
matter is contained. To speak further is to repeat my- 
self, — to utter anew the same old story with needless 
expansion. Alas, alas ! that true love should rage so 
wildly ; and, in the end should die out, with knowledge 
that it has fed upon deceit alone ! There are those,” he 
continued, the torrent of his recollection of the past 
seeming to force him into that discussive flow which he 
had professed his purpose to avoid, — “there are those who 
believe that the love of one of noble birth for any one 
beneath him can be only a light and transitory matter, 
soon exhausting itself, and burning down to mere lifeless 
satiety. It may be that this is generally so, — and still not 
always. For if so, how is it that my passion for Manon 
proved so powerful and lasting ?' Yet not differently from 
the rest of the world did I myself, at the first, look upon 
such lowly love ; for when in the beginning I saw Manon 
at her window, it was rather in spirit of transient admi- 
ration than of heartfelt love that I regarded her. The 
willing toy of the moment as others had their toys ; — so, 
only, was my thought about her. Not to be wondered 
at, either ; seeing that her beauty was not of open obtrus- 
ive nature, but of quiet power, stealing into the heart and 
influencing it with gentle tones and soft sympathetic 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


159 


glance, rather than with correct chiselling of feature and 
harmonious and attractive tints. Little by little, — so did 
those more subtle charms of voice and glance and manner 
sink into and influence my whole nature. Step by step — 
so did I begin, in the absorption of that love, to forget 
myself and the world around me, — throwing duty aside, 
and letting the hope of fame grow dim, and all for Manon.” 

“ That, indeed, was a cruel wrong to yourself,” re- 
marked Pere Rouflet, feeling that he should not listen 
altogether without comment. 

“ Not entirely to myself, Pere Rouflet. That might 
little matter, as the world goes ; seeing that it would none 
the less go on as usual, without assistance of either my 
duty or my fame. But meanwhile, as you know, I had 
legally and in all propriety given my love to another, — 
the fair Cecile ; — and now I found it basely turning back 
from her who rightfully owned it and clinging to her who 
should own it not at all. Do you think I did not struggle 
against such breach of faith .? Do you think I did not 
strive with kindness and all semblance of devotion to 
train my heart aright ? But it is an unruly heart, and 
would not therein guide itself at my command ; and so 
my whole career in life and the happiness of another 
person who surely deserves everything from me seemed 
destined to be wrecked upon that shoal of passion. 
Until all at once — ” 

“ Well, Sir Knight .? ” 

“ All at once there came a cruel ending of the matter, 


l6o UNDER THE BELLS. 

forManon left me. How and under what pretence I have 
before told you, speaking about her desertion as from a 
simulated friend. The blow, — it was a hard one for me, 
indeed ; yet all the same, perhaps it was a needed one. 
It roused my pride, and thereby stirred my soul to action. 
Resolving to forget her, I sprung from idle dalliance, 
buckled on my armor and sought the field. You know 
the rest ; how that I bore my part in siege and foray, and 
gained an honorable wound which was thought at first to 
have been my death, then lay for months in close cap- 
tivity, and after that was ransomed and returned hither 
not many weeks ago. And yet, even during that long 
siege and captivity, I failed in my power to forget the 
past and my heart seemed broken with the memory of 
the love forever vanished. I would lie at night beneath 
the stars and think of Manon by the hour together ; striv- 
ing at times to invent good reason for her conduct, so 
that thereby I might justify to myself my lingering love, 
at other times endeavoring to move my heart to rage, 
through memory of my wrongs, so as to lead me to in- 
difference and peace. And oh ! how often would I dream 
the night long through about Manon’s sweet face when it 
was only about Cecile far off in her convent retreat, — 
about Cecile alone, with her pure trusting, waiting love 
that I should have thought ! But at last, indeed, I seemed 
to forget all such disloyal fancies, and to come once more 
into my right mind.” 

“ With which, doubtless, as with every good action, 


\ 

UNDER THE BELLS. '' l6l 

came the long desired peace of heart : is it not so ? ” 
Pere Rouflet inquired. 

“ Yes, — yet only for so long as those good promptings 
lasted. With my ransom paid, came return homeward, 
visitation of familiar scenes^ and renewal of all past asso- 
ciation. Even as I hurried to the castle where Cecile 
aware of my return awaited me with words of love and 
tenderness, I passed through the streets where I had 
walked at eventide with Manon, and I glanced up to the 
high turret window at which 1 had first seen her, leaning 
out to gaze upon the street below, and I thought no 
longer about her late perfidy and deceit but only about 
the sweetness of affection which once she had lavished 
upon me. Even as I greeted Cecile, and looked upon 
that abounding beauty grown still more gloriously attrac- 
tive during my absence, with here and there an added 
trait of tenderness and soft repose from past solicitude 
about my uncertain fate, the gentle lovelit eyes of Manon 
seemed to come between us. It was as though some 
diabolic fate encompassed me, driving me onward to 
miserable falsehood ; and with inward cursing of myself 
I seemed to wither beneath the blight of weakness, even 
as I wreathed my face with smiles in answer to Cecile’s 
unsuspecting welcome.” 

“ Alas ! Even then had you no self-control ? ” 

‘‘ None, Pere Rouflet ; and still less, later. For not 
many days thereafter, it chanced as you may remember, 
that I saw for the first time yonder picture. Little then. 


i 62 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


with my recollections of the past so tenderly encompass- 
ing me did I discern, as now I do, the real truth therein 
depicted. With my imagination all astray and worked up 
to frenzied heat, I saw only grace and beauty and abound- 
ing love, as in the olden days. I went from here with my 
heart again inflamed and my honored troth for Cecile 
trailing once more in the dust. And as indicative of how 
deeply and absorbedly I felt, — of how each thought of 
love and suggestion of the fancy spoke only of Manon, — 
I will tell one circumstance.” 

“ Speak on. Sir Knight.” 

“ That evening, I chanced to pass the convent wall just 
outside the church. There is a little iron gateway 
sunken at one point within the stone wall, as well you 
know ; and at that gateway stood a small frail-figured 
religeuse, seemingly awaiting admission. At least, she 
was standing motionless, with one hand clasping the thick 
iron stauncheon in expectant attitude. What relation do 
you think that humble figure in gray could have had to 
my lost Manon ? How could she ever have association 
in my mind with one who always delighted in bright ap- 
parel, attuning her presence with rare equity to the sun- 
shine of her heart ? And yet, so filled was my mind with 
one idea, so ready was it to associate that idea with every 
passing circumstance, that as I gazed through the gather- 
ing darkness at that frail humbly clad figure, it brought 
Manon to my mind as by a flash of inspiration. Some- 
thing in the attitude impressed me, — something in its 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


63 


very appearance of weariness. I remembered how 
Manon had once stood before me in just such posture ; 
thoughtful for the moment and weary of sportiveness, re- 
placing her gittern upon its accustomed shelf and so 
pausing with one hand extended above her, still clasping 
the instrument. I swear to you, Pere Rouflet, I was 
tempted for the instant to rush forward and accost the 
little religeuse, so thoroughly did the subtle influences of 
Manon seem to encompass her as with an atmosphere.” 

“ But you did not ? ” somewhat rashly exclaimed the 
other, the perspiration starting to his forehead and his 
voice quavering with apprehension, 

“ Nay, — why should I do so ? It was a momentary im- 
pulse, only ; soon checked by my re-awakened judgment. 
Manon was dead, — that thing I too well knew ; how 
could even the most accurate likeness of another to her 
have power to satisfy me ? So I passed slowly onward, 
not even turning a glance behind to see whether the 
religeuse had gained admission. And then, warned more 
surely than I had ever been before, of the dangerous cur- 
rent of my thoughts and of the necessity of directing them 
into new channels, I gave up all my heart and soul to 
influence them aright. You may remember how often, — 
still speaking as in behalf of my simulated friend, — I tried 
to gain from you the truth about Manon’s past life. I 
thought that if 1 learned that she had been faithful to 
me, I must perforce remain constant to her memory ; 
but that if she had been unworthy, I could tear her from 


164 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


my heart with scorn and so redeem myself. You would 
not betray the secret of the confessional, Pere Rouflet ; 
and therefore I left you with anger in my soul. But as I 
turned away, you said that in some other manner, peace 
might come to the troubled heart.” 

“ And it did, Sir Knight ? ” 

“ It did. Though at the time I scorned the word, yet 
it has so come to pass. Is it then true that you have 
some sacerdotal power to influence the mind for good ? 
How it has come about, indeed, I know not. I have 
made neither prayer nor confession ; nor have I done 
anything else to change my state of mind ; and yet, little 
by little, the real truth has all the while been stealing 
over me. Do you know how ? Only, indeed, by gazing 
constantly upon that picture, in which at first I saw 
nothing except unequalled loveliness and trust ; but in 
which I now detect cold calculation, pretended and 
interested love, a nature vain and arrogant and cheerless. 
Noting this change and knowing that it must have h)een 
the real truth forcing itself upon my more reflective 
nature, now I realize how I have been deceived in the 
past, — how I have been held helpless by mere force of 
passion, unworthy and unreal.” 

‘‘ And yet. Sir Knight, she may not have been false to 
you,” said Pere Rouflet. For even as he listened, there 
came a pang across him, that through his influences 
Manon was being thus maligned ; and he felt that he 
should bring back some pity for her into the other’s 


UNDER THE BELLS. 165 

heart, even at the risk of undoing-all that he had so,pain- 
fully accomplished. 

“ Let that be granted, Pere Rouflet, if so you will. 
What care I how it might have been? Two weeks ago, 
I would have been glad to learn her falsity as my only 
refuge for peace. Now I regard it not. It is on other 
grounds that I speak. My mind has come right again ; 
and I see, — reading it from yonder picture, — that if she 
were ever faithful to me, it was not so much from depth 
of passion as from convenience, — that if she repented at 
the last, it was because the memory of myself was not 
powerful enough to draw her back to me, — that so easily 
abandoning me, it would not have greatly pained her if I 
had first abandoned her, — that I need not longer reproach 
myself with suggestions of any broken heart within her 
breast, seeing that she had not a heart that could be made 
to break for any one. And learning all this, now I know 
how little I have lost and I am again at peace. — But tell 
me ; do you feel quiet in your mind with reference to 
your fame ? ” 

“ How mean you. Sir Knight ? ” 

“ Why look you ! You rest your reputation most 
earnestly upon this picture, — the greatest of your works. 
All men approve of and applaud it, and even the great 
Leonardo da Vinci has added the seal and testimony of 
his approbation. And lo ! no sooner does one critical 
beholder like myself make careful study of the painting, 
than he discovers in it errors and offences that have 


i66 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


escaped all other eyes, and thereby prove the work to be 
by no means faultless. Where now are the grace and 
soul-lit beauty and compassionate long suffering that the 
great crowd of critics following close upon each other’s 
heels like silly sheep have recognized in the picture ? 
How saddened, — how angry might be your patron Saint, 
who must be supposed to know all things, at finding her- 
self portrayed so beautiful, indeed, yet withal so soulless, 
calculating and repellant ! — Nay, Pere Rouflet, take not 
my poor criticism to heart. It was only made in jest. 
It would ill become me to wound your pure spirit, upon 
this our last meeting.” 

“ Last meeting. Sir Knight ? ” 

“Yes, — for now that I have effected my purpose of 
relieving my heart from sorrow, by studying out the vanity 
of all my former confidence and love, why should I re- 
turn again ? For now, indeed, the intent of my late 
lingering here has been accomplished and it needs no 
repetition. Rather let me devote my future to the love 
that so richly deserves my gratitude and care ; and as I 
bask in that sweet presence, let me give every moment to 
making due atonement for past neglect. At once will I 
repair to Cecile and tender her my full unfettered troth 
of sweet undisguised affection.” 

“ Do so, Sir Knight,” was the other’s quick response. 
“ Let not the grass grow beneath your steed’s hoofs before 
you have made yourself worthy of that perfect love so 
ready and earnest in its greeting of your own, I feel as- 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


167 


sured that not many words or long labored acknowledge- 
ment of past fault will be needed to obtain her full for- 
giveness. And I know, — ” the Priest continued, mindful 
of the little minature and yet not wishing to betray the 
secret, “I know full well that the lady Cecile holds even 
now at her heart that which will prove to you her long 
affection and enduring trust.” 



CHAPTER XII. 

S O the Knight turning, passed down the long nave, 
his step quickening as he advanced, in his eagerness 
to begin the pleasant work of reconciliation and atone- 
ment. At his side and silently escorting him walked Pere 
Rouflet, in his bowed meagreness and coarse serge gown 
forming strange contrast with that stalwart laced and 
plumed companion, yet withal having some pleasing im- 
press of quiet dignity, as doing the honors of his own es- 
pecial place. Gaining the wide porch, Pere Rouflet held 
back the leather curtain that Toys de Martelle might pass 
forth, — then remained motionless upon the upper step 
while the Knight mounted his steed and rode away. A 
single gay parting salute from the belted plumed Knight, — 
a courteous answering nod that was half a benediction from 
the other at the open door ; so the interview between the 
two ended, and Pere Rouflet turned again from the outer 
sunshine into the more familiar shade of the cathedral 
arches. 

Now creeping slowly back along the nave, in his return- 
ing progress towards the choir, suddenly he felt his whole 



UNDER THE BELLS. 


169 


frame sink into yet more contracted feebleness, his soul 
grow faint with oppressive perception of unworthiness and 
sin. What was this base thing that he had done, — acting 
thus a foul deceit, in order more surely to betray the heart 
that all the while had so fully trusted in him ? How grossly 
had he not wronged and persecuted his better nature, to 
accomplish an end which after all might rather, perhaps, 
have been left to work out its own destined devices ? 

Up to that moment, Pere Rouflet had scarcely had 
time for settled thought. The necessary hurry of his 
action had driven away all power for reflection, while 
afterwards the company of the Knight had seemingly sus- 
tained him against self reproach. But now he was both 
alone and unemployed ; and with that, the thoughts that 
he had thus far kept at bay pressed tumultuously upon 
him, overwhelming him with the undisguised perception of 
the true and culpable nature of his deed. Not, indeed, 
as regarded his long continued and skilful deception of the 
Knight. Either that the gradual and slow progress of 
that act had hardened him with use, or else that he looked 
upon Sir Toys as a strong man able to protect himself 
and thereby not entitled to too much tender consideration 
for possible weakness and credulity, Pere Rouflet gave 
little heed to the sin of the deceit and felt no especial re- 
morse for what he had therein done. But how was it 
with that one concentrated act of base falsehood to Ma- 
non, striking down her shield of trust, and using her weak- 
ness for her sorrow and destruction ? 


170 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


“ It was right that I did it, he muttered to himself. 
“ Else might she have down again to her lover ; and where 
then her hopes of heaven ? ” 

Yet though the plea for justification seemed good, in 
his heart it gave him no satisfaction. It quieted him not 
in his recollection of the despairing glance with which she 
had sunk upon the floor, her very unshaken confidence in 
his truthful friendship aiding and increasing her heartfelt 
misery. It drove not away the fiend which seemed to 
pour mocking taunts into his ear, as though welcoming 
him for fellow-laborer in the ways of unkind torturing 
deceit. 

“ I will give myself up to work,” he said. “ I have 
been idle of late ; and thereby come these foolish fancies 
unsettling my mind and making me afraid about the good 
I have done, by reason of some chance irregularity in the 
method of its doing.” 

Then turning from the nave, he entered his little studio 
and prepared for labor. The Saint Jerome stood yet un- 
finished upon the easel ; and upon this creation of his 
fancy, scarcely in some respects less glorious than his 
famous Sainte-Clotilde, he made ready to put the finish of 
his genius. But when he had mixed his colors afresh and 
stood brush in hand before the picture, he started back 
with affright. Why did the Saint thus harshly and re- 
proachfully gaze upon him ? Truly the face was nothing 
altered from what it had been a few hours before, when 
it had seemed to bend upon him a calm, benignant, ap- 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


171 

proving smile. Now the smile was gone, and there was 
only expression of stern rebuke, as for some lately com- 
mitted sin. What was that sin, Pere Rouflet’s unquiet 
conscience too readily told him, and how that the realiza- 
tion of it had changed his own perception of the quali- 
ties of his Saint Jerome. For the moment came the 
thought to paint a beaming smile upon the repellant face 
of the Saint, and thereby strive in fancy to reconcile his 
own creation to himself, even as he had made the Sainte- 
Clotilde distasteful to another ; but the next moment he 
abandoned this idea as puerile. Rather let him postpone 
all further labor upon that picture until another day, 
when doubtless his quieted soul might find itself more 
consonant with its calmer and benignant attributes. In 
the meanwhile, there might be other labors less disturbing 
in their influence. 

He turned the face of the Saint Jerome to the wall, and 
from his table drew forth a roll of vellum. Upon this, 
many months before, he had begun illumination of a 
saintly prayer for adornment of monastery wall. The 
work was already so far advanced that the text was well 
nigh all laid in, and its bordering of gold and purple in 
fanciful arabesque exaggerations was half completed. 
Surely Pere Rouflet could give himself up to such a task 
as this without perturbation of soul. Yet even here he 
found no peace ; for in each corner of the bordering and 
among the wild tangle of grotesque lines and curves lurked 
pictured cherub heads ; and these seemed now to cast 


172 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


Strange glances upon the artist, losing their celestial char- 
acter and rather leering upon him with expression of 
malignant scoffing as though changing from angelic irri- 
tants into mocking fiends. So at last abandoning this 
labor, also, Pere Rouflet arose and disturbedly paced the 
studio. 

“ It was all for her good that I did it,” he muttered, 
“ and in the end, she will thank me for it. Even now, 
Sir Loys is forgetting her altogether, in the expressed af- 
fection of his betrothed ; and as for Manon — ” 

He paused in his slow pacing to and fro, and looked 
out through the little window whence Manon and he had 
gazed a few hours before. Yes, — it might be a pleasant 
world to such as knew how to use it for its advan- 
tages, — so much should be admitted ; and yet it was 
not altogether such an alluring place that disappointed 
love might not fly from it and call devotion’s aid to 
assist in bringing forgetfulness of its vanished dreams. 
Already the sun was sinking, and the first gloom of 
evening hovering near, in readiness to fall. The labors 
of the day were nearly over, and peace and quiet were 
succeeding the late activity and excitement. There 
came no longer the loud clang of beaten metal from 
the armorer’s shop ; and now the workmen, their 
leathern aprons not yet thrown off, were resting in the 
open air outside. The gypsy conjurors had departed 
in search of other fields of profit, and the stone pillory 
stood divested of its living garlands ; yet there were still 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


173 


a few weary wretches sitting in repose upon the lower 
step, tranquil and at peace, and without thought of the 
unpleasing nature of the instrument overhead. In every 
direction, severe labor and violent indulgence seemed to 
have coalesced into the happy medium of calm content. 

“ Sir Loys forgetting Manon altogether at this very 
moment,” said Pere Rouflet, continuing his former train 
of thought. “ And Manon, — she soon to be at the con- 
vent, — no more to see Sir Loys for ever. She will even 
learn in time to remember him no more, it may well 
chance. Yet sometimes I — ” 

Yes, — sometimes he himself might chance to see her, 
for a moment. There were times when a priest might be 
called into the convent upon especial purpose. It might 
be to conduct a service, and then he would see Manon 
sitting in her place among th^ other inmates. It might 
be that he would be summoned to administer consolation 
to some dying nun, — to Manon herself, perchance ; and 
then he could once more speak with her, and it might be 
that with her last words she would tell him that she 
remembered all his past kindness to her, and with some 
such parting, would make him happy for life. In any 
event, whether he were ever to speak with her or not 
again, never more could she look upon Sir Loys de 
Martelle. 

His face flushed as he thus reflected, and his whole 
frame seemed to shrink with the overpowering sense of 
sin and meanness. For now he realized as never before, 


174 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


how that his struggle to baffle Manon’s yearning to see 
Sir Loys had not been altogether prompted by pure and 
praiseworthy motive. It was not merely the desire to save 
her from repetition of her sin ; but rather the spirit of 
selfish jealousy, resolving that if it were not in the nature of 
things for her to love himself, she should never turn again 
to other love. Now at last finding his long hidden and 
distempered thoughts crystalizing into shape, he knew 
the whole measure of his fault, and cringed beneath it. 

Alas ! alas ! And had it really come to this, that 
he had thus schemed and forsworn himself, merely 
to hinder her from one great parting joy ? For what 
after all, — now more justly than ever before, he reas- 
oned — what could be the harm that she should have seen 
her lover once again ? Surely it would not have resulted 
in renewal of the olden ties ; for if hitherto she had had 
the strength to break away from him, how much more 
now, when her soul had been so greatly purified with good 
works and abounding devotion ? It would have been a 
kindly parting, with forgiveness freely given from either 
side, and she would have gone away into the convent gloom 
cheered with lasting happiness and content. Instead 
of which, he, Pere Rouflet, in whom, not only by virtue 
of his office, but also of his long professed friendship, she 
had confided, had striven to betray her trust, and to send 
her into lifelong seclusion with misery and uncertainty in 
her heart. 

He looked again out into the gathering gloom, and let 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


175 


his gaze rest upon the convent. A long high stone wall, — 
a tomb like fagade at the further end, — within, tall trees 
standing motionless and in close array, like sentinels 
stationed there to guard the inmates, — this was all. Over 
this loneliness and seclusion, the brooding of a spirit of 
peace and protection ; the whole scene, like that of the 
world outside presenting good and evil mingled in equal 
degree ; its several features revealing themselves in greater 
or less prominence as the hearts of those within must 
naturally have attuned themselves to either. To some, the 
place a prison, — to others, a rest and refuge for the weary; 
and how now would it prove to Manon ? 

‘‘ I thought, — it seemed to me that I was doing right,*' 
Pere Rouflet murmured again to himself. “ Whether or 
not it were for myself, surely it were for her good as well. 
And yet — ” 

Torn with these disturbances and doubts, he now 
moved away from the window and passed from his studio 
into the body of the Cathedral. It has been said that at 
times he was wont to walk reflectingly up and down 
the sombre aisle ; his only pastime and rest from labor, 
—his only refuge from troublings of thought. Now 
with his hands clasped before him and his head bowed, 
he paced in its full length and with quick tread, the 
aisle fast darkening with the night ; while he strove, as 
often before, to calm his mind with this nearest approach 
he ever knew to energetic action. But all in vain. His 
troubles hitherto had been light and easily composed com- 


176 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


pared with this ; they had been anxieties felt for other’s 
sins and not for any of his own. More and more inquiet 
grew his soul ; and strangely enough, whatever before had 
been most familiar to him, seemed now to confront him in 
unfriendly spirit. The tablets along the walls to the mem- 
ory of good men, and with whose goodness he had felt his 
soul akin, — what now were these but reproaches of him- 
self ? The recumbent warriors in stone, their mailed 
hands pointed upward in prayer, — how strangely they 
seemed to frown upon him through the darkness, even 
as Saint Jerome had turned a forbidding face upon him ! 
There on the left was the familiar blank space in the wall 
where the erring Abbot had been immured, — his fault 
consisting in unholy love for the fair creatures of earth ; 
was that a more guilty thing than to have crushed a 
fair young heart by trampling out its love ? 

Turning again, he passed from out the aisle and stood 
in the broad nave before the high altar. Within the past 
few minutes the darkness had gathered still more deeply 
about him. Transepts and arches were already shrouded 
in gloom, — carvings of corbel and finial were lost in 
indistinctness, — even the great nave was now only dimly 
lighted by a dull gleam from the end-window ; and as he 
gazed, this remaining vestige or the day, glimmering for 
an instant along the white marble pavement, fled from 
before him as though magically swept away. The stained 
glass windows grew opaque and undefined, the great rear 
window sharing in the gloom : and of the full-length 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


177 


figure portrayed upon it, neither form nor feature could 
longer be traced out, — nothing remaining but irregular 
lines where the edges of the panes of glass cut their 
several ways across the broad surface of the whole. 

And now as Pere Rouflet there stood alone and unab- 
stracted, with only his own thoughts to keep him company, 
the excitation of the last few days still further passed 
away and a reaction came in new direction. Hitherto 
he had regretted his deceit only as it regarded Manon, 
but now it shaped itself into repentance in that it also 
concerned Sir Loys. Spite of all his former convincing 
self-argument and of his readiness to find approval of his 
stealthy labor, now that the work of disguise upon the 
painting had been so successfully accomplished, he began 
to doubt the propriety of it. What was he, that he 
should have interfered with cunning wiles and invehtions, 
to bring reconciliation to those who were of so little ac- 
count with him ? What was he that he should have 
impaired the glorious representation of departed Saint 
for the comfort of any living present ? Had it been any- 
thing less than act of sacrilege to place his destroying 
hand upon that once glorious figure of his artistic cre- 
ation, — bringing it thereby into contempt ? What punish- 
ment, indeed,’ could be too great for that ? What pardon 
could he ever hope to find ? Darker and darker grew the 
hour, — more deeply shadowed the great window, the wit- 
ness of his offence, — more hopelessly shrouded in dense 
gloom his repentant spirit. 


178 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


It was not Strange, then, that in his despair he should 
have become nerved to do at once what he had resolved 
upon, for the coming dawn. The Knight had said that 
he would not return again : why therefore leave the 
painting a moment longer to its enforced distortions, 
rather than now' restore it to its pristine beauty ? The 
alterations upon it having been made in simple water- 
color, could easily be removed. Prudence whispered to 
Pere Rouflet even now, that to accomplish this with 
safety to the rest, he should wait until daylight, lest in the 
attempt some damage might ensue ; but the condition of 
unhealthy desperation into which his mind had fallen 
counselled instant action. Anything rather than thus re- 
main supinely mourning for his fault and not striving to 
undo it. All risks, indeed, rather than that for even a 
single night longer the great painting should be suffered 
to remain in its disguise of coldness and uncomeliness. 
Might not the grace which had aided his brush to impair 
its beauty, now assist him to re-illume it ? Transported 
with a frenzy which would admit of no control, he groped 
his way behind the altar, raised himself upon the carved 
mouldings until he stood on a level with the picture, — 
then hurriedly passed a dampened cloth blindly hither 
and thither across where he judged the face should be. 

And as he did so, the outer silence was broken by the 
clash of steel, mingled with loud oaths, alternate shouts 
for assistance and revenge, the sudden sharp cry of 
wounded men, and indeed, all such sounds of affray as 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


179 


betokened combatants fighting their way along the street ; 
until at last the din growing nearer and louder, resounded 
from the very entrance of the cathedral porch. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

S O for a time the clash of weapons continued, and was 
broken only by the loud breathing of contending 
parties as each instant they fought their way still further 
into the body of the cathedral ; and, in another moment, 
a single combatant holding steadfast in his hand a broken 
rapier was forced through the inner door into the nave. 
For a second he yet stood at bay ; and then as three or 
four of his enemies pressed hard upon him, he turned and 
fled towards the altar. The others made a step or two for' 
ward as though lo pursue, — then stopped irresolute, im- 
pressed with the irreverence of their purpose, — then slowly 
sheathed their swords and scowling fearfully fell back and 
stood in a close cluster at the entrance. One among them 
remained for a moment longer with his weapon unsheathed, 
while he watched the receding figure of the fugitive. He 
too, at length thrust his sword into its scabbard, with an 
energy that made the arches of the building echo with the 
harsh rattle ; then with an oath of baffled rage, fell slowly 
back among the others. 

At first quickly, and then with a slower pace as he saw 
that he was no longer pursued, the retreating man ad- 



UNDER THE BELLS. 


l8l 


vanced towards the choir, flinging himself down upon the 
steps by which that portion of the floor was raised above 
the rest. Here he sat for a moment, panting from the 
exertion he had undergone. Then he was aroused into 
new action by the voice of Pere Rouflet. It needed not 
the pale moonlight stealing in at the great south window 
and falling in silvery sheen upon the cathedral pavement 
to tell the Priest who was this fugitive. It seemed as 
though his instincts had told him this, while yet the com- 
bat was raging outside, — as though his assurances of quiet 
and success during the day had all the while been realized 
by him to be deceptive, even when most readily he had 
seemed to be putting his fullest confidence in them. Now 
the sudden emergency of the moment swept away as a 
cloud his late unruly access of distempered doubt and 
ungovernable transport ; and he stood looking down upon 
Loys de Martelle with as stern composure as though his 
soul were sea of ice never to be ruffled. 

“ What disturbance is this ? ” he asked. “ What brawl 
have you been engaged in. Sir Knight ? Why enter this 
place with your naked sword ? ” 

“ I have slain a man ; is there anything singular in 
that ? ” responded the other. And as he spoke, Pere 
Rouflet could not fail to note the careless reckless tone, as 
of one so environed by circumstances of ill that life had 
become a mere plaything and reputation only a breath. 
“ I have been driven to this place by his adherents ; I now 
claim shelter and sanctuary.” 


i 82 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


Sanctuary you can have,” Pere Rouflet replied, and 
with full assurance that his promise could be carried out. 
For the protection of the altar was too powerful to be 
transgressed ; and though an army might peer in through 
every window, the criminal who had once gained that 
refuge for the time was safe. Then, seeing that a shade 
of trouble and doubt passed across the fugitive’s face at 
noting the figures of the pursuers still clustered threaten- 
ingly at the distant porch, Pere Rouflet took his single 
unsupported way down the nave and approached them. 
Upon his own ground and in authority there, there was a 
certain air of dignity and power even in that poor stunted 
figure as it slowly paced onward. At sight of it making 
its quiet and resolute progress towards them, the right 
hand uplifted in stern warning, the little group huddled 
yet closer together, then gazed irresolutely at each other, 
then one by one stole softly away. A moment more, and 
they had all departed. Then Pere 'Rouflet returned to the 
raised choir and stood looking down upon the fugitive 
still resting upon the lower step. 

“ You will tell me the meaning of all this. Sir Knight,” 
he said. “ I can judge even now that the hope I had 
formed for you has failed me, — that fate or your own evil 
passion has proved too powerful for you, — that there has 
been foul wrong done somewhere. Was it by yourself or 
merely against you ? Is your soul guilty with blood- 
thirsty intent, or has your act been one of self-defence ? 
All this I must hear from your own lips.” 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


183 

“ It is as well that you should do so, Pere Rouflet,” 
was the rejoinder ; and again with that mocking reckless 
tone that spoke of a brave spirit forced into desperation 
of thought and purpose. “You can not ask it as of 
right ; but now you are host and I am guest, and it is fit- 
ting perhaps that I should tell you the story. It is a 
relief to have some one in whom I may confide, easing 
thereby my mind ; and moreover, it were better that you 
should hear from me the true narration of it all, rather 
than a false account from others. Was it my own wrong 
act, did you ask ? By my faith ! scarcely can I tell ; so 
woefully has the whole day been confused with shifting 
of events, so hurriedly has fate driven me from one ex- 
tremity to another.” 

“ It is but a little while since last you were here,” said 
Pere Rouflet. “ It does not seem that many things could 
have meanwhile happened.” 

“ Enough, however, to have changed the fortunes of 
many lives, good Pere. But I will tell it all : and as it 
may prove long in the narrating, sit you down so as to 
listen with greater ease and comfort. It suits me not 
that you should stand thus over me, looking down at me 
as though you were about to smite me with the thunders 
of the Church instead of listening as a friend who might 
advise and give needed sympathy. Sit you down, there- 
fore ; inasmuch, moreover, as it is no light or trivial 
story, and may yet weary out not only your endurance of 
body but your patience of soul, as well.” 


184 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


Obedient to the request, Pere Rouflet sat down beside 
the other ; upon a higher step of the raised choir floor, 
yet not so high but what being of smaller stature than the 
Knight, he could listen with ease and comfort. Then 
Sir Loys, waiting yet a moment in silence, perhaps con- 
sidering whether after all he had not better withhold 
narration, perhaps merely collecting the threads of his 
story into more manageable shape, began. 

“ It seems to me singular, Pere Rouflet, that I, who 
have ever been so reticent of all my thoughts, should 
now prepare to lay bare my whole heart to one whom I 
have known for so few days. This, too, not in confession 
which would bring its own seal of secrecy with it, but in 
that open conversation which prevents you not from pro- 
claiming to all the world whatever of it you seem fit. 
But yet, as I have already said, there is now gathered 
about me so much misfortune which you will surely hear 
before many hours, should you chance to mingle with 
the world, that I have desire for you to know the real 
truth, and thereby, perchance learn that I am not stained 
with all that blackness of foul crime which others would 
impute unto me. Moreover, — and this may be the real 
secret of my confidence, — there is much need for my 
soul’s comfort, that I should have converse with some 
one. 

“You know with what elastic spirit of elation I parted 
from you, not many hours ago. It seemed to me, then, 
as though I were forever and altogether cured of a base 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


1^5 

infatuation that for months had weighed down my heart 
and crushed out all its purer aspirations. Now at last, — 
I thought, — I could go my way untrammelled with any 
doubt, and freely yield up all the best affections of my 
nature to that one who most richly deserved them. Even 
as I left the church porch, it seemed as though the loving 
words with which I should greet Cecile sprang impulsively 
and unresisted to my lips, and the very pacing of my 
steed along the stony pavement rang in unison with the 
metrical outpouring of my soul’s affection. 

“ So for a few moments. Then came reaction, slowly 
and surely driving away my confident serenity and again 
clouding my mind with doubt. Not that the olden love 
for Manon began as yet to come back ; that frenzy I 
still believed to have been silenced forever. But for all 
that, there came doubts and uncertainty, regrets and 
miserable bewilderment. There is a legend, Pere Rou- 
flet, in our up country annals, of one who sold his soul to 
the Arch-fiend, for store of gold. Such things may often 
have been done, of course ; and it is in tradition that in 
a little town of Brittany the foul bargain was again re- 
peated. And when the erring mortal went the next 
morning to feast his hungry eyes upon the golden ducats, 
lo ! they were changed to lumps of stone. It seems to 
me, indeed, that for this deceit upon the great enemy’s 
part, the bargain should be held of none effect, and the 
soul have been restored to him who had owned it, — tar- 
nished, perchance, from its late impure association, but 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


1 86 

for all that not incapable of renovation ; but about that 
matter, the legend does not speak. But it does tell that 
the wronged and cheated man, upon seeing the valueless 
stones where had been the gold, burst into loud and 
passionate acclaim of grief and would not be comforted. 
It was not for the stones that he wept, but for the lost 
gold which they had once represented. Do you*see the 
parallel of the matter in my own life, Pere Rouflet ? Lo ! 
as I passed along upon my charger, I began at heart to 
mourn for Manon. Not, indeed, for her as I had at last 
discovered her to be, — not for her who was cruel and 
base and crafty with all guile and selfishness, but for the 
pure loving being whom, in my imagination, she had 
once represented. Would that that person, so fondly 
loved might return ; and since she had never existed, 
except in my own fancy, would that some of those quali- 
ties which I had imputed to her and which might well 
exist in others had remained. And then, thinking about 
Cecile, her beauty, grace and loving spirit, I began to 
weigh her in the balance, as it were, — contrasting her 
with the older imagery of Manon, — wishing that to such 
grace and beauty of the one might be added the tender 
fascination of the other, — wondering why that superior 
personal loveliness of form and feature, while it drew 
forth my admiration and approval could not compete 
with those more subtle charms of my lost love in kind- 
ling my utter self negation, devotion and enrapturement, 
— ^basely, all the while, indeed, poising the merits of 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


187 

Cecile against those of the imagined Manon, and feeling 
more and more conscious, alas ! that in many qualities I 
found her wanting. 

“ All this inner debate soon led of course to perplexity 
of spirit : can you wonder at it, Pere Rouflet ? And 
naturally, I found that my mind was no longer calm and 
serene with the comfort and assurance I had carried away 
from here. Rather was it becoming a tempest-tossed sea, 
and ready to surge into mischief upon slight provocation. 
And as in such cases usually happens, the provocation 
was at hand. For as I drew near the castle of my be- 
trothed, I saw clustered at the outside gate a group of 
retainers in livery of the Grand Duke of Mantua. And 
then, of course, I understood at once the situation. The 
Duke had been at Paris, had there discharged his duty at 
the Court, and being now upon return to his own country, 
had tarried on the way to see Cecile again, and doubtless 
attempt once more to move her heart in his favor. This 
at once angered me and made me ready for any incon- 
siderate and hasty action. Why should he, knowing full 
well that Cecile had been betrothed to me, dare now to 
come between us ? Why should his higher rank give him 
that privilege which my mere equal could never main- 
tain, to disregard my claims ? And how in any event 
would he dare to do so, unless assured — which, alas ! I 
myself already so well knew — that all her family and kin, 
dazzled with the glitter of his state, full openly en- 
couraged his pretensions and were not lightly intent that 


i88 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


she should relinquish me in his favor? Transported with 
such bitter thoughts, I spurred on towards the postern, 
perhaps too heedlessly, and not drawing in my rein as 
carefully as I might have done if in better humor ; where- 
by I rode too roughly among the retainers, and almost 
trampled beneath my steed’s hoofs the Grand Duke’s 
jester who, in fool’s cap and with wooden sceptre, sat upon 
the ground dispersing merry conceits about him. With 
no slight damage to his bones, he crawled from beneath 
my charger, his bells ringing a discordant tocsin of dan- 
ger ; and scarcely tarrying to note whether I had not 
slain him outright, I rode through the postern-gate into 
the main court. And here, perhaps was. error, Pere 
Rouflet, in that I had not taken care to see what might 
have befallen the jester. It is an ill thing to anger even 
the most humble ; more especially a court-fool, who is 
privileged to say whatever he pleases, and need fear no 
violence in return. As now I rode onward to the court, 
I heard a peal of rude laughter behind me, doubtless 
from rough witticism of the Fool at my expense ; and 
this little matter, which in calmer mood I might disregard 
as beneath me, now had the effect to increase my heat 
of temper and my disposition towards ill-advised action. 

“ Foremost of all other persons whom I saw in the main 
court was the Grand Duke, upon his horse, and with a 
group of armed retainers riding behind him. They were 
passing around to the outer postern, and doubtless he 
had just come from having audience with Cecile. What 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


189 


might be the result of that — whether for good or ill to 
him, I could not by looking at him, ascertain. Whether 
elation or disappointment filled his heart, — all that matter 
he kept within himself ; nor upon his impassive face did 
he betray any sign of feeling. Glancing at him with pur- 
port of stealthy inquiry, to mark in what spirit he bore 
himself, I could not but note more understandingly than 
ever before, how noble and full of manly nature was that 
unrevealing face, and with what spirit of royal and 
courtly grace he bore himself. This I admit : being not 
one of those who would gain credit or advantage for 
himself by low depreciation of a rival. And it was this 
very consciousness of worthy rivalry that now added to 
my bitterness of thought ; making me, for that moment, 
uncertain how far the high rank of my noble rival might 
have gained influence through his courtly presence, to 
undermine my better claim. 

“With polished grace the Duke lifted his plumed bon- 
net in greeting of me ; and I saluted him in return, main- 
taining, not unsuccessfully I hope, something of his own 
quiet and reserved deportment. Then as the caval- 
cade rode slowly out through the postern, I dismounted 
from my steed and sought Cecile’s apartment. 

“There was not far to go, — a single flight of steps ; and 
so, with one turn to the right, into the room where most 
ordinarily she received me. A long though somewhat 
narrow hall, with fretted ceiling, and lighted at the back 
and along one side by deep-set narrow windows with 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


190 

glass richly stained. Here now sat Cecile at the further 
end, awaiting my coming, seeing that this was the hour of 
the day in which most usually I was accustomed to appear. 
Before her and at a little distance on either side, stood a 
frame work for tapestry, which here and there was already 
aglow with bright colors of the interwoven silk. Beside 
her chair were other seats for her maids-in-waiting, who 
were wont to assist her in the progress of her embroidery. 
These seats were now vacant, the maids having doubtless 
left the hall in order that she might hold her late con- 
verse with the Duke of Mantua undisturbed ; and as yet 
they had not returned. Cecile sat alone awaiting me ; 
and as she arose to return my greeting it seemed as 
though I had never seen her look so beautiful. The 
sweet ennobling expression, — the beaming of a new hap- 
piness that upon my entrance overspread her face, — for 
now at least I can remember its presence though so fool- 
ishly at the time I chose to disregard its loving indica- 
tions, — the beauteous hair falling in thick wavy billows 
over her shoulders, in pleasant contrast with the darker 
color of her soul-lit eyes, — the bright sunlight with its 
varied tints filling the hall with a rich gleam of radiance 
that softened into gentleness every attribute of the scene 
which might otherwise have seemed rude and that gave 
new aspect of beauty to whatever was most lovely in itself ; 
— all this I could not fail at the time to notice. And yet 
with strange perversity I found myself turning away from 
that train of thought which should most readily have led 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


I9I 

me onward to my better self, and indulging instead in wild 
errant fancies that could not fail to imperil the happi- 
ness that I had only to grasp and hold in sweet content. 
I see it now, — alas ! why could I not see it then ? But 
all the time, the demon that tempted me to my destruc- 
tion would not be appeased ; and even while I gazed en- 
raptured and entranced at Cecile, there stole upon me the 
wonderment of how much of all that loveliness might be 
due to mere accessories of scene and dress ; and of how 
beautiful, more beautiful, indeed, Manon might have seem- 
ed in that robe of purple velvet with those rich festoon- 
ings of lace, and the bright lustrous pearls fastened in 
her locks and the soft light pouring down upon her 
through the stained glass ! Striving, though, to repress 
such thoughts, I advanced and lifted Cecile’s hand to my 
lips. With that action came new thoughts equally need- 
ing repression. This hand, thus held out towards me, in 
loving greeting, — was it not the same hand which the 
Grand Duke of Mantua must have saluted a moment be- 
fore when he made farewell of her ? ” 

“All that was a base and ungenerous thought,” ex- 
claimed Pere Rouflet. “ For what is there amiss in a 
courtly greeting ? Or, if there were slightest taint of 
wrong, who are you that you should reflect upon it, — you 
with your heart filled at that very moment with loving 
longing for another ? ” 

“A base and ungenerous thought, indeed,” responded 
the Knight, not at all angered by the outspoken freedom 


192 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


of the Other ; possible because Pere Rouflet had by his 
office the right to chide, and therefore might well be in- 
dulged in such vocation. And am I not confessing all 
my baseness throughout, good Pere ? Am I striving to 
extenuate anything that I have done amiss ? Grant me 
at least the charity of believing that I know myself par- 
tially as I must seem to my most bitter enemy." 

“ Proceed, Sir Knight." 

“ Well, Pere Rouflet, that was my jealous reflection of 
the moment, and under the influence of it I said : 

‘ The Duke of Mantua, — I met him just below. It 
is an ill thing that he should thus continue to pay his 
court unto you ; knowing, as well he must, that you are 
already pledged.’ 

“‘An ill thing, indeed,’ she answered, not taking my 
words in offence. For perchance it is not always dis- 
pleasing to a maiden to listen to petulous reprovings, if 
they betray indication of a disturbed and jealous sj^irit. 
‘ And yet, Loys, it may be that Dukes and Princes are in- 
clined to hold themselves above the rules that restrain 
men of less rank in their dealings with each other. But 
it matters little. For the last appeal of the Duke was a 
farewell. To-morrow he will return to his own posses- 
sions, and thenceforth we will be freed from his further 
presence. He has relinquished his suit forever, — so he 
now says, seeing how hopeless it must be ; and on his de- 
parture he has asked only one thing, — a favor whicli* I 
could not grant, indeed, though I was sorely inclined to ; 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


193 


were it not that he might have taken the meaning of it 
amiss in spite of promise to the contrary, and have con- 
sidered as done in love that which was only m^ant in 
friendship.’ 

“ ‘ And that favor, Cecile ? ’ I asked. 

“ *’ This,’ she said ; and she lifted from the table at her 
side, where it had lain so buried in silken threads that I 
had not observed it, a little miniature of herself, in a 
fretted silver case. A beautiful and lifelike likeness of 
herself ; the work, doubtless, of some famous artist of the 
Court. How, not having been at Paris for the last year, 
she could have had that perfect work accomplished, I 
know not. It is sufficient for the purpose that it has been 
done and with all secresy, the better to surprise me with 
the gift ; and that the likeness is as replete and glowing 
with every grace of feature and impress of loveliness be- 
longing to her, as though she had herself sat before the 
artist and let the fair image flow in some mystic harmony 
of color upon the vellum. 

“‘This, Toys,’ she said, ‘this was the favor. The 
Duke beheld this, which — which I had prepared for an- 
other ; and taking it into his own hand, he besought me 
that I would allow him to retain it. I had rejected his 
suit — of that there could be no misunderstanding ; there- 
fore, since he might never in this world see me again, 
would I not let him have the portrait as a mere keepsake 
from a distant friend ? Long, thus, he besought me ; and 
with such earnestness that for a moment I was almost 


194 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


inclined to yield. But the next, I constrained myself and 
said — ’ 

“ ‘ Said what, Cecile ? ’ 

“ ‘ Said, indeed, that however I might express myself in 
grateful recognition of the honor and compliment he had 
done me, and however I might be disposed to offer much 
for him in the way of friendship, in this matter I must 
hold myself excused. For that the miniature had not 
been prepared with any ordinary intent, but with refer- 
ence to a special purpose. That I had obtained it as gage 
and proof of affection for the only one I could ever love. 
That to this person alone, the possession of the picture — ’ 

“ Saying this, Pere Rouflet, she paused. What need, 
indeed, was there for her to speak further, so long as she 
knew that I ought to be able to read her heart aright, — 
so long as all her action so plainly was in correspondence 
with her words ? For ceasing in speech, she gazed lov- 
ingly upon me and held the miniature lightly and loosely 
poised in her hand, within a few inches of my own, sug- 
gesting freely its true purposed destination, — almost as it 
were, thrusting it between my fingers which should have 
leaped impetuously towards the prize, but which, instead, 
remained motionless and unclosed.” 

“ And why so. Sir Knight ? ” 

“ Why ? In truth I can scarcely tell ; unless it were 
that the attendant fiend which so long and diligently had 
constrained my mind to its assured disadvantage, still 
possessed me. But when I should have stretched forth 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


195 


my hand to receive the picture, there came into my heart 
new whisperings of doubt, and again unjust comparisons 
of the present true love with the vanished false one. 
What though Manon had been false ? All the same she 
had been loving, winning and impulsive in all her ways. 
She would not have stood thus motionless waiting for me 
to request the gift which I knew was already mine ; for 
so at the time, in the blind infatuation of my doubting, 
I chose to interpret the playful reticence of Cecile, who 
really wished not to hold back from me anything that was 
my due, but merely desired in girlish sportiveness, that I 
should betray some Idverlike interest in its bestowal. 
Manon, — I said to myself — would have thrust the little 
picture almost by force into my hands and would have 
stopped my thanks with plenteous outbreak of passionate 
embrace. Thus pondering and making unjust com- 
parison, I let the propitious moment go by unseized, and 
stood with hands still morosely clasped ; until at last 
Cecile’s patience and forbearance both gave way. I saw 
the flush of disappointment — not even then, of anger — 
steal cloudily across her face, while her eyes lowered before 
mine with saddened expression ; and so her hand slowly 
dropped and she placed the picture once more upon the 
table. Then, Pere Rouflet, I felt how deep had been my 
.fault, — so bitter to her the slight.” 

“And with that knowledge, late as it came to you, you 
must then have striven. Sir Knight, to make amends ? 
Tell me that you made swift amends.” 


96 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


“ Indeed, I really strove to do so. Not with excuses 
for what I had already done ; for it is ill attempting by 
such means, to cure a wound. But rather did I seek by 
other and different efforts, to cause forgetfulness of my 
heart’s hardness. Standing beside her, my eyes fell upon 
the unfinished tapestry stretched upon the frame before 
us. What better means to soothe the female mind than to 
show interest in woman’s arts or exploits ? Therefore I 
stooped before the work, and told my admiration of it 
and of the taste that led her to assume it, and asked the 
subject of it, and in all proper manner strove to exhibit 
pleasure in it. 

“ ‘ The subject of it, do you ask ? ’ she said. And 
from one side she brought the vellum sheet ; upon which, 
in outline for her to copy, and in coloring from which, if 
she pleased, she might vary at her taste, was depicted the 
whole suggestion of the tapestry. The design of one of 
the most famous painters at the Royal Court, — she said, 
— and the subject, Achilles at the Distaff. 

‘ I have heard of him,’ I said. For you must knoW;, 
Pere Rouflet, that all the learning of the day does not 
filter into churchly channels, but that even rough knights 
may have their chance opportunity for instruction. ‘ I 
have heard of him, Ceclle, and of this portion of his life 
wherein he wielded the distaff instead of the sword and 
buckler. But methinks that in the story it was only when 
the trumpet sounded that he realized he was a man. 
How then does it happen that here, with no brazen 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


197 


throated trumpet to recall him to himself, the distaff has 
fallen at his feet and he seems offering earnest love to 
one of his fair companions ? ’ 

“ ‘ So I enquired of the artist,’ answered Cecile ; ‘ but 
he replied, that though to the outer world Achilles had 
not stood revealed as a brave warrior before being in- 
cited by the clang of arms, yet often ere that, his heart 
must have betrayed its longings and affinities by gentle 
word or loving gesture.’ 

“ ‘ Loving gesture, indeed, Cecile,’ I said ; ‘for behold 
him now, with arm thrown about the neck of the fairest 
of his companions and lips approaching hers with differ- 
ent intent than that of mere converse. And, he has 
thereby shown taste and inclination like unto my own, 
seeing that he has left alone the darker maidens and 
sought her who is light and blooming. Look ! how in 
tint of cheek and hair, — in shape of face and feature, — 
in sparkle of the eye and smile upon the lip, — altogether 
in almost every trait and description, she whom he has 
been attracted towards is the picture of yourself ! A very 
excellent Achilles, and altogether worthy of my com- 
mendation, Cecile.’ 

“ At this her eye brightened up with pleasure, and her 
dawning smile grew yet more cheery, and I saw that this 
one kind speech of mine had done much to brush away 
past clouds and bring sunshine again into her heart. 
But with the, license of maidenhood not letting herself be 
all at once conquered or turned from her vantage-ground 


198 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


of past offence, she still affected resentment ; coyly seek- 
ing to let it openly J:)e seen, now that it had passed away, 
rather than to hide it as she had tried to do while yet she 
had it with her. And shaking her head with much as- 
sumption of doubt and incredulity, she said : 

“ ‘ Alas ! is Achilles any less manlike than are all men 
around us ? For though he has chosen for his love she 
whom you so much commend, she seems not of herself 
alone sufficient to fill his heart. Look now where all the 
while his hand clasps the robe of one dark-haired maiden 
close behind him, as though even in the delirium of his 
present passion he cannot consent to release the object 
of his past affection.’ 

“ Was it by some singular chance, Pere Rouflet, that 
Cecile thus spoke ? Was she giving out merely some 
light suggestions of her fancy about man’s fickleness in 
love? Or did her words have deeper meaning, being ac- 
tuated by some knowledge of my own past career of 
passion, leading so often to indifference towards herself ? 
Was her speech in fact a simple random jest, or rather a 
studied reproach ? I could not tell. All her manner may 
have indicated the first, but there was that feature in the 
artist’s picture which gave cogent suspicion of the latter. 
For it chanced that even as she whom Achilles clasped 
had some resemblance in feature and expression to 
Cecile, so she whom he forbore releasing from the grasp 
of his other hand was not unlike Manon. The same 
dark complexion and sorrowful pensive eyes, the same 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


99 


thick braids of hair falling over the temples and conceal- 
ing half the cheek with luxurious folds, — if this were 
mere chance, it had in it some strangely devilish stroke 
of fate for my overthrow. No matter, though. Even 
were it all purposed by Cecile, here was my opportunity 
by soft words and gentle looks to make amends for all 
past slights, and set myself again high up in in her loving 
favor. And with that intent I spake. 

‘“Rather let us say, Cecile,’ I answered, ‘that in the 
great absorption of his present passion, his faith in what 
has gone before is all but dissipated ; and that, if by 
power of habit or association he clings at all to anything 
belonging to the past, it has no real endearment to his 
heart. It may well be that Achilles has felt his mind at 
some former time distracted by unruly temptation ; but 
gazing closely at the picture, you can see that it is so no 
longer. Look ! his fingers do not cling lovingly or regret- 
fully to the robe of the dark haired damsel, however 
beautiful she may be ; but in the position of them there 
seems rather that which betokens desire for speedy re- 
lease from even the slightest entanglement. And see how 
he casts no glance behind, but lets his whole gaze fasten 
with almost delirious absorption upon one whom he no\v 
knows to be the true and only object of his affection.’ 

‘ ‘ Say you so, Loys ? ’ exclaimed Cecile. And I saw 
that she understood the hidden meaning of my words, 
and drew from them a bright augury of her future happi- 
ness, — so cheerily did the light of a new and perfect assur- 


200 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


ance of my love kindle in her face, so radiantly did her 
joy in our perfect reconciliation gleam in response to my 
utterance. ‘ Say you so, Loys ? Then take, now, the little 
picture and hold it ever as your own. A moment ago, I 
had selfish desire that you should ask for it at my hands : 
now I would rather force it upon you, in sign that there 
is nothing that my heart could ever deny you.’ 

“ ‘Yes ; give me the miniature,’ I said. 

“Again she lifted it from the table and held it a 
moment in her hand before releasing to me its possession ; 
giving transported utterances of her new found joy, even 
as a bird will warble pleasant carols to her mate. 

“ ‘ And to think, Loys, that there was really a time and 
not so long ago, in which I imagined that I could not 
trust in your affection. So dark the days seemed when 
at times you appeared unresponsive to me ; — so long the 
periods wherein I awaited those loving words which I 
thought ought always to flow out towards me. And can 
you reprove me or wonder that at times I felt so hope- 
less ;~distrusting you only because I distrusted my own 
power to please? For she is so beautiful, — in many 
things so much more beautiful than I.’ 

“ ‘ Who, Cecile ? ’ I said. 

“ ‘ Who, Loys, but the dark beauty of the picture, — 
of the great painting in the church ? Could I help feel- 
ing some jealousy of her in my heart ? Small and 
humble in manner as she seems, — ill and poorly clad, — 
could I look into her eyes as so lately I did and not there 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


201 


mark that great absorbing loveliness of expression, that 
sympathetic enticement which^ — ’ 

“ ‘ What mean you, Cecile ? ’ I cried all aghast, and 
carried away with an impulse not to be resisted. ‘ Whom 
have you seen, and where ? Can Manon still be living 
and I — I of all men not know it ? ’ 

“By the Gods ! Pere Rouflet, I must have been for that 
moment frantic to speak as I did. I knew of course that 
Manon was not alive, — that Cecile was self-deceived, — 
that in some jealous mood she had been dwelling upon 
her contemplation of yonder picture, and having seen 
some girl of the people remotely resembling it, had too 
easily connected the two together in her thoughts. And 
yet it seemed for the instant as though she held such 
assurance of perfect knowledge, that I felt carried away 
with an absurd belief that she spoke in certainty, and 
that Manon was really yet living. And upon that 
impression, with such a great leap did the happy past 
come forward and encompass me, and so brightly did 
the fiction of Manon’s continuing existence gild my 
thoughts with only the most pleasant reminiscences of 
other days, I felt overwhelmed as though the Heavens 
had opened to let down unexpected floods of happi- 
ness upon me. Manon alive ? Manon seen of late by 
Cecile ? I thought no longer of shame, disgrace, hard 
calculating action, ungenerous and deceitful motive, self- 
ish desertion of myself, — of none of those bitter truths 
that of late I have schooled myself to realize. I thought 


202 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


now only of that living trustfulness which I had once 
carried believingly in my inmost heart, — of that peace of 
soul which I had enjoyed during my self deception, and 
the awakening from which should never have come to me 
at all. 

“ ‘-Manon alive ; — and no kind spirit has ever let me 
know of it ? ’ I cried ; and then I looked once more at 
Cecile. She was standing motionless, spell-bound before 
me. Again her face was pale, her eyes startled and 
steadfastly fixed upon me, as with pain. It was not now 
mere sorrow that I read in her expression, but the just 
anger of an insulted outraged woman. I had gone at last 
one step too far, — had opened out my weak and faithless 
heart to her full contemplation ; and in those few utter- 
ances of mine had disclosed my perfidy as thoroughly as 
though I had taken days to explain it. And as she now 
slowly recovered her power of speech, I saw written in 
her face the cold movement of a new and stern reso- 
lution, never to be turned aside again. 

“‘To the one whom best I should love, — that was the 
purpose of the picture, was it not ? ’ she softly, almost 
whisperingly muttered, as communing inwardly with her- 
self rather than speaking to me. ‘ Whom best I ought 
to love ! To no one here, indeed, can it be given.’ 

“ Slowly — very slowly, she let her hand fall upon the 
table ; and there releasing the picture, let it lie where it 
had been at first. I would fain have seized it myself and 
covered it with kisses, so great now was my desire to show 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


203 


repentance ; but I dared not. I would have taken her 
hand in mine and on my knees have uttered wild protes- 
tations of affection and remorse ; this also, it was beyond 
me now to do. For her eyes were resting upon me with 
cold, implacable, forbidding stare ; and beneath their re- 
pelling power, somehow I could not find a single word to 
utter in my exculpation. And silently and with my heart 
cast down, I stole out from her presence, scarcely know- 
ing what I did, until I found myself once more in the 
castle court yard.” 



u 


CHAPTER XIV. 


HE courtyard was now almost deserted, for the 



Grand Duke with most of his retainers had 


ridden away to his new quarters. A few of his men-at- 
arms, however, lingered about the postern in idle conver- 
sation with the servitors of the castle. Among these still 
sat the Duke’s Fool, swinging his bells with measured 
nodding of the head, and keeping his auditors in a roar 
with his professional jests and jibes. As I mounted my 
steed and rode by them, there came momentary hush, — 
followed when I had passed, by renewed laughter. Was 
this in continuation of some interrupted witticism having 
no reference to myself ? Or, on the other hand, had my 
defeat shown itself so plainly in my face as to arouse 
their ready spirit of mockery ? I could not tell, indeed. 
1 knew that I had endeavored to assume and maintain a 
properly impassive demeanor and expression ; and yet, 
when there is rage, turmoil and bitter self-reproach in the 
heart, there needs be, perhaps, that some evidence of it 
will show itself upon the face of any one not trained to 
conceal his emotions. I know, too, that when I heard that 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


205 


laugh, which might or might not have had myself for its 
object, I felt in such a transport of rage that I would 
have liked to turn and trample all that group beneath 
my horse’s hoofs ; and with difficulty I restrained myself 
so as to proceed upon my way with affectation of in- 
difference. 

“ What now to do ? It seemed, at one moment, that I 
had so outraged Cecile’s trusting nature, that there could 
never be forgiveness ; and this, indeed, should be the 
truth, inasmuch as my few words to her were not such 
mere matter of hasty speech as could be swept aside by 
tender action, but were in themselves a revelation of long 
perfidy and indifference, an explanation of everything 
that for weeks had seemed amiss in me. At other mo- 
ments, I dreamed that I could yet be pardoned if I made 
loving overture ; and now so deeply did I regret what I 
had done, that I felt as if no self-abasement could be too 
low to gain that pardon, and that I could have bartered 
all my hopes of Heaven for the joy of once more listen- 
ing to those loving words which had always been so ready 
to flow forth for me, and which I had so wilfully slighted. 
Y es, — for that I would demean myself in all lowly peni- 
tence. But yet, not now. An hour or two to let Cecile’s 
resentment cool, — a little tarrying to allow some kindly 
recollections of the happy past to arise and urge her to 
tender forgetfulness of her wrong ; then I would reappear 
and throw myself at her feet and all should again be well. 

“ So, remorseful and uneasy, I lingered here and there 


2o6 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


away from the neighborhood of Cecile until the evening 
came. Then, by the softened moonlight attuning my 
mind to more tranquil thought, and, as it would seem, to 
more collected power of urging my penitent appeal, I 
stole forth on foot and betook myself towards the castle. 
And when half way there, it chanced that face to face I 
met young Arnulf, Cecile’s brother. 

“You may remember him, Pere Rouflet. He was with 
us that day when first I looked upon yonder picture of 
Manon. A fair and gallant-hearted stripling ; a page, 
as once I had been, at the Royal Court. Like unto my- 
self, he would in time take knighthood upon him ; in 
preparation for which, it had been settled that before long 
he should remove from Court and become my esquire. 
As such, the time would doubtless come when he could 
follow me upon some foray and so gain his spurs. A 
noble boy ; — whom greatly I loved, even as though he were 
my own brother, and to whom moreover I felt much be- 
holden, by reason of his attachment to and advocacy of 
myself. For while so many of the race of the De Cour- 
trais would fain have had Cecile abandon my alliance 
for that of the Duke of Mantua, and with greater or less 
secresy of purpose had manoeuvred against me, Arnulf was 
one of those few who held themselves steadfast and in- 
corruptible in my behalf. Now meeting me, there was as 
ready and friendly greeting upon his part as ever before. 
But as I held his hand, I saw that his mind was ill at ease, 
the disturbance of it showing in his face as in a mirror. 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


207 


“ ‘ What now, Arnulf ? ’ I said. 

Nay, I should ask you,’ he answered. ‘ What is this 
I hear about a quarrel between Cecile and yourself ? ’ 

“ ‘ Then it is known, Arnulf ? Yes, — a silly quarrel, 
wherein I will admit the wrong was all upon my part. It 
is to assure her of my consciousness of this, and if it be 
possible, to bind up the wound that my petulance has 
caused, that now I am on my way back to the castle.’ 

“ ‘ Alas ! ’ cried Arnulf, ‘ do you think that the wound 
can now be healed at all ? I fear me, it has gone too deep 
for that. How, elsewise, can it be ; this thing that I am 
told ? ’ 

“ ‘ What, Arnulf ? ’ 

“‘That in some strong resentment, Cecile has sent for 
the Grand Duke of Mantua to return to her, and has 
given to him her portrait as gage and proof of love ? ’ 

“ By all the saints ! When this I heard, Pere Rouflet, 
my heart for the moment stood still,— an icy chill crept 
over all my limbs. Were this true that Arnulf told me, 
then most likely had mischief been done that could not 
ever be undone. I could not chide Cecile, — even at that 
moment of my heart’s sharpest pain, I could merely feel 
that I had done her such despite that nothing on her part 
should justly bring down my anger upon her. I could 
understand, somewhat, the girlish pique- and impulse with 
which she may have acted ; and I could even excuse it, 
so properly was it in accord with every impulse of our 
common human nature. I had insulted her true affect- 


2o8 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


ion; and what more natural than that, in her resentment 
she should turn for comfort to another ? In thus excus- 
ing her, it might be that I found the task more easy, by 
reason of the little real jealousy I felt. I knew that Cecile 
could not have turned to the Duke with any affection for 
him in her heart, and that she would never again love man 
as she had loved me. It was the tearing altogether 
from her life the power of future love, — the substitution 
for it of cold rank and state. Therefore I did not think 
to blame her. But as for him who had come between us — 

“‘Say you so, Arnulf?* I exclaimed. I think that 
doing so I laughed aloud ; but it must have been a hol- 
low laugh, indeed. * Say you so ? Then as I live ! he 
who has taken advantage of this foolish quarrel to dis- 
possess me, shall die the death of a dog before I let loose 
my hold upon hinL^ 

“ As I spoke we turned the street, having by this time 
again taken up my way toward the castle. And before 
us was the beginning of the woodland that extends from 
the castle walls upon the north unto the river’s bank. 
There was a stone bench beneath an oak tree upon that 
side, and there all alone the Grand Duke chanced to sit. 
Said I not aright, Pere Rouflet, when I told you that 
chance or fate, whether it may be, as our attendant 
fiend is always ready to forward plans of mischief ? In 
any other mood I might have passed that stone seat 
a score of times, and found it empty. Now that I 
longed to meet my enemy that I might wreak my re- 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


209 


venge upon him, he was sitting there, all ready at my 
hand. Nay more ; he had there come for purpose of 
love-meditation. For while I stood for a moment un- 
seen, he drew from his doublet, where it lay over his 
heart, a little case which gleamed so brightly in the 
falling moonbeam, that I recognized it readily for the 
silver incased miniature, — gazed fondly upon it for a 
moment,— then returned it to his bosom. I am but 
mortal man, Pere Rouflet ; and no mortal man could 
endure this sight in patience. With one quick stride I 
came forward and stood before him, — so close in front, 
indeed, that my shadow fell directly across his knee. 

‘‘ ‘A word with you, my lord Duke,’ I cried. ‘ You have 
a picture, — a portrait of one to whom I am betrothed. 
I cannot suffer, for my sweet honor’s sake, that this 
should be. You must release to me that picture.’ 

“ ‘ One to whom I am betrothed has given that picture 
1 to me,’ he answered ; — scornfully, and yet with a certain 
[ grace of courtesy. ‘ I know not who there may now be 
I with power to make objection. One there once was who 
might have told me nay, and in all proper right ; but he it 
' seems has weakly thrown away the privilege. Know you 

1 any such person, Sir Knight ? Go to ! I will keep the 

I portrait with my life.’ 

5 “‘With your life then be it,’ I replied. And that I 
[ might hurry the matter to sudden issue, I raised my hand 

I as though to buffet him upon the cheek. At that move- 

j ment he started, growing pale with rage ; — then arose. 


210 


UNDER THE BELLS, 


“ ‘ It is enough, without the blow itself,’ he said. ‘ That 
can be understood in all its full intent, as thoroughly as 
though really given. Therefore, — where and when. Sir 
Knight ? For I am at this moment at your service.’ 

“ For answer, I pointed to the deep shadow of the wood, 
where the closer gathering of the trees made thicket ; and 
with a courtly bow he followed me. A minute then I led 
the way, until we came to where there was a small space 
vacant of all shrubbery. At one side ran a well worn 
path leading to the nearest river bridge ; but for a long 
space at either side the path was now unoccupied. At 
the other side the thick forest gathered close around. 
Overhead was the bright moon, shedding lustre upon the 
green turf and making every object clear as day. 

“ ‘ Here we can make our stand, my lord Duke,’ I said, 
unsheathing my sword. He bowed ; and drawing also 
his sword, stood opposite to me. At this there was 
a momentary delay ; for Arnulf now for the first time 
becoming certain of our intent, flung himself in haste be- 
tween us, — begging that we would put up our swords, — 
that we would strive in some other way to accommodate 
the matter, — that at least we would wait until another 
time when proper witnesses upon either side could be 
procured and the conflict carried on under some formal 
rule. But we were too much in the distemper of hot 
blood not to be resolved to settle the affair upon the 
spot ; and telling Arnulf that there could be no delay, 
and that he must serve as witness for us both, we 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


21 1 

motioned him from between us and again stood in 
position of mutual offence. 

My lord Duke,' I said, while for a moment we re- 
mained thus motionless with our swords crossed ; ‘it is my 
firm resolve to kill you. Therefore, before you die, take 
this occasion to send by me your prayer for pardon to the 
Lady Cecile for having presumed to look with aspiration 
upon her.* 

“ ‘ Sir Knight,’ he answered, — and I will admit that he 
spoke with better discrimination of speech than I had 
shown ; ‘ it is with the fates to determine which of us must 
die. If my just intent can serve me, it shall be yourself. 
Confess, therefore, that you have proved yourself un- 
worthy of alliance with beauty such as hers.’ 

“ With that, giving each other no further speech, — for 
there was no need of response to words that were meant 
on either side for mere polished insult, — we rapidly 
engaged ; our swords eagerly clashing in their fierce en- 
counter. So for a moment. Then with crafty lunge, I 
sent his weapon flying from his hand and my own point 
into his breast. He staggered back, and I thought at first 
that he had been sped. Lowering then my sword, I 
waited in silence for him to fall. But he remained still 
standing, for the instant troublously catching his breath ; 
then unloosed his doublet to ascertain the nature and con- 
dition of his hurt. There was no wound at all ; but, 
from the open doublet, fell the little silver cased minia- 
ture. There was deep dent of sword-thrust in its side • 


212 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


proving that this it was, that, like a breastplate, had 
saved him. 

‘ Should you not now yield to me all right to its pos- 
session, Sir Knight ? ’ he said, gazing upon the picture 
which lay upon the grass between us, glittering in the 
soft moonlight. 

“ ‘ Nay,’ I retorted, ‘fate has shown that I can rescue 
it from you, — there remains for me merely to re-accept it.’ 

“ ‘ As I spoke, I stooped to raise it from the ground. But 
he, putting forward his foot, pressed one corner of the 
picture so closely that I could not lift it; and at the same 
time reaching forth his hand one side, he regained his 
sword and stood again upon the defense. I, lest he 
might somehow get advantage of me in possession of the 
picture, placed my foot likewise upon it, and then the 
combat re-commenced. At first, as before, with full 
length of sword ; but gradually, as we found that with 
foot of each thus planted upon the miniature we were 
drawn too close together for distant action, we shortened 
up our holds, each clasping the upper portion of his blade 
instead of the hilt, and so continually contracting in the 
circle of our attack until our combat resembled rather the 
fight of bravoes with their daggers than of Christian 
knights with their swords. Meanwhile Arnulf had recog- 
nized the picture as his sister’s portrait ; and in distress 
that in our blind rage we should be trampling it beneath 
our feet, he sought to rescue it from that cruel profan- 
ation, — stooping down between us at a moment when our 


■ UNDER THE BELLS. 


213 


weapons being raise high in air, it seemed that he might 
safely do so. 

“ What now shall I say, Pere Rouflet ? Or how, indeed, 
shall I say it at all ? I would rather that you should sup- 
pose the rest, than be myself obliged to tell it. Is it not 
clear to you ? Well then ; there came a moment in this 
fierce combat when so wildly we struck dagger-fashion at 
at each other, that we saw Arnulf sink down between us, 
with half stifled groan. Which one of us, in his hurried 
movement, had chanced to strike that poor innocent boy ? 
I looked at my adversary’s blade, and saw that it still 
shone brightly in the moonlight ; at my own, and shud- 
dered as I noted that its lustre was dimmed and that 
cruel drops of blood fell from the point. Alas i the bitter 
fate had been drawn upon myself. 

“ * Let our combat here end, Sir Knight/ said the Duke, 
as in dismay we lowered our weapons. ‘ It befits us not 
now to continue it. It may be that at some other time 
we may resume it. For that I am always at your pleas- 
ure. ...Meanwhile, do you remain with this poor boy and 
render him such assistance as you can, while I repair to 
the castle for a leech. Perchance the wound may be a 
trifle after all, and not unto death.' 

“ Naturally forgoing all thought of further fray, I gave 
assent ; and while the Duke hurried away, I knelt upon 
the grass and lifted poor Arnulf’s head upon my knee. 
Hoping, indeed, that, as the Duke suggested, the wound 
might prove a trifle : feeling my heart fail within me as I 


214 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


saw that my hope was all misplaced. For the life blood 
was welling in bright stream from Arnulf’s heart, and al- 
ready the dew of dissolution was gathering upon his fore- 
head. Yet did I strive to cherish hope and to encourage 
him with cheery words, as though by giving him mistaken 
confidence in his strength, death could be held at bay. 

“ ‘ Take courage, Arnulf,’ I therefore cried. ‘ Help 
will soon be here.’ 

‘“Ah, Toys, there can no longer be help for me,’ he 
gasped forth. 

“ ‘ Say not so, Arnulf. We will be in the field together, 
dealing our blows right merrily, for many a year to come.’ 

“ ‘ Nay, Toys, — not for me ; that thing I know full well. 
Lean over nearer to me.’ I leaned further forward, and 
he threw one arm about my neck and drawing my face 
still closer to him, kissed me upon the cheek. Me, Pere 
Rouflet, the one who slew him ! Alas ! the friendly 
caress was his farewell to me in life. ‘ I know, Loys,’ 
he whispered, ‘ that it was your hand which struck me ; 
but I know, also, that it was through accident you did it. 
Think not that I could bear malice by reason of it. Do 
you not know the legend, — that not one generation can 
pass away, without a Courtrai being slain by a Martelle ? 
It must needs be so ; and now your part has been fulfilled 
without blame or reproach to yourself. Better so than if 
you had been fated to go on for years with that doom 
hanging over you, to be carried out at last in hot blood 
and with more direct purpose.' 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


215 


“ So, Pere Rouflet, he spoke ; though not all at once or 
in as clear sequence as I have given it ; for at times his 
speech would be broken and threaten altogether to fail, and 
there were other times when he would pause with pain, 
with difficulty finding breath. Nor did he speak in those 
exact words that I have used, for I cannot remember all 
he said. That was the meaning and purport of his speech, 
however ; and when he had finished, I saw too plainly 
that all was almost over. I leaned over still more closely 
and pressed my own farewell kiss upon his cheek, — for 
the moment his arm tightened about my neck in apparent 
response and acknowledgement,— then relaxed and fell 
from around me ; — and so he died. 

“ Pere Rouflet, I would have given my life for his. 
What was I that I should live ; having already, by a few 
foolish reckless words, destroyed all my destined career ? 
But he, so young and fair, with the world opening bright 
before him, urging him to go on and win plenteous honors, 
— why was it that he of the two must be the one to die ? 
For a moment I continued to hold his lifeless head upon 
my lap ; then gently removing it, placed it upon the soft 
grass and arose to my feet. Looking down at that fair 
young face, even in death smiling upward at the softly 
glowing moon, I felt that I should have died in his stead, 
— that in losing such fond affection as his, I had lost 
everything, — that fate had now done her worst and there 
could not be anything more cruel for me in store. Yet 
even there I was mistaken. 


2i6 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


“ For, as I now stood erect and cast my eyes around, 
awaiting the succor which could never have come other- 
wise than too late, I saw a strange and startling thing. 
Whether it were my own baleful imagination that acting 
upon my disordered mind now led m*e astray, or whether 
it was the actual presence of the attendant fiend that so 
successfully had compassed my destruction and now had 
one more buffet left for me, I cannot tell. I think, in- 
deed, that it must have been the latter ; so cunningly and 
not by chance did everything seem to arrange itself for 
my further tribulation. Be that as it may, I saw advanc- 
ing upon the path that led past the grove and towards the 
city, a small frail figure in gray hood and dress as of a 
religeuse. The same deceptive figure that I had once 
seen clinging to the iron bar outside the convent door, 
and had then gazed upon with such strange suggestion of 
Manon’s figure. Doubtless the same creative presentment 
of the fiend that had appeared to Cecile for our mutual 
misunderstanding. And as I gazed, the figure raised its 
head, looking upward with partially turned face so that 
the moonlight fell broadly upon it ; and I saw that not in 
figure only but in every feature and expression as well, it 
was counterfeit of Manon. Slowly while I gazed, it passed 
along the path, still looking upward, nor seeming to notice 
me as there I stood ; — so glided onward while, for the 
moment, I stood transfixed, — then disappeared behind 
the curving of the path. 

‘ Then suddenly I recovered my suspended faculties, and 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


217 


with them, all my spirit to do and dare. What reason to 
stand thus a prey to morbid fancies or to fiendish wiles ? 
Be it distempered imagining or devilish apparition, I 
would follow and face it down. At once there should be 
an end of nerveless fear and lack of knightly purpose. So 
hurrying away and along the path, I strove to overtake 
the figure and hold communion with it. 

“Yet all in vain, Pere Rouflet. I followed far, yet saw 
it not again, — it might be that it had vanished into thin 
air,— it might be that it had mingled with the groups of 
wayfarers that became more frequent as I approached the 
city ; whatever it might be, I could not regain sight of it. 
And so I returned to the place of my late conflict, pon- 
dering much upon what I had seen, and now dreading lest 
during my short departure, assistance might have come 
and found me absent from my post.” 

“ And so it was, Sir Knight ? ” said Pere Rouflet, fore- 
seeing the new disaster. 

“ Even so. While I was still some distance away, though 
in sight once more of our battle ground, I saw advancing 
from the other side, with flaming torches, a large and con- 
stantly increasing group of the Courtrai retainers. I be- 
held them gather around the deserted corse of Arnulf, and 
for the moment gaze awe-struck and silent upon his pale, 
upturned face. I heard the loud torrent of oaths and 
curses and foul vituperation that then burst forth against 
myself, who should properly have been present to await 
the succor they had hoped to bring ; but who alas ! 


2i8 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


seemingly with cruel purpose, had left the poor boy to 
die alone ! 

“ What could I say or do ? It were useless to face that 
angry crowd and tell them that Arnulf was already dead 
when I had abandond him. It were a childish thing to 
think that I could make them comprehend that I had 
"been drawn aside by impulse to follow fiend or spectre. 
It were a rash and self destroying thing to approach that 
group at all with intent to make any explanation whatever ; 
knowing full well, that in their present wrathful temper, 
I should have no time given me for argument at all, but 
that before I could have said a word in extenuation, a 
score of thirsty swords would pierce my throat. For an 
instant I thought to advance and meet my doom, and so 
at once have the whole trouble ended. But I am young, 
Pere Rouflet ; and to the young, life even in the midst of 
troubles has its charms. There yet might be some happy 
career open before me, if this stress of cruel circumstance 
were once passed safely through. And so, reaction came 
to my first intention ; and seized almost with panic, I 
turned and fled. 

“ Away along that beaten path and towards the city. A 
moment more, and I heard the shouts of those behind, 
who in wide dispersion of their forces sought for me. 
I could see the torches gleaming through the woods, — 
could mark by the outcry that there were some who had 
chanced upon my track. Increasing my speed, I gained 
the bridge and crossed the river ; and now among the 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


2T9 


city throng, I could for a moment take breath, and con- 
sider upon what course to follow. To turn into my 
own lodging would be the extreme of rashness, for there 
at once I would be sought for. To wander through the 
streets would be little better, for soon the pursuit would 
be carried into the city bounds. To seek some obscure 
street among thieves and vagabonds, where my purse 
would gain me temporary concealment was little to my 
taste. Meanwhile, as I anticipated, even as I paused for 
reflection, the tidings of my misdeeds were borne across 
the bridge, and the hue and cry for my blood arose on all 
sides in increasing volume, and the light of other torches 
gleamed here and there along the walls and far down the 
streets, showing how diligently I was sought for, and at 
last there seemed no safety left for me anywhere. 

“ Suddenly, however, I heard my name called, — not in 
wrath but in joyful greeting. Turning, I saw a single 
man-at-arms advancing open handed, as to my embrace. 
It was one who had fought at my side many months ago, 
had believed me dead as others had done, and now hailed 
me with joy as one newly awakened from the tomb. 

‘‘ ‘ Stand back, Barblochc,’ I cried, in spirit of justice to 
him, and not willing to lead him blindly into mischief on 
my account. ‘ Come not near me until you hear all. I 
have slain a man, and now those who are of his kin and 
party seek my life.’ 

“ ‘ I care not whether you have killed the King, good 
master,’ he said. ' If you had done so, I know that it 


220 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


would have been for proper reason, and that is enough for 
me. I have been sick unto death from a wound, and for 
the first time am abroad ; but there is yet some strength 
left in me for a blow in defense of my gallant captain. 
Where, now, are those who would take your life ? ’ 

“ For answer I pointed down the street, where a group 
of armed men with torches cut off all flight in that direct- 
ion. Therefore, to escape them, — for now Barbloche 
proposed taking me to his own lodging where, for a while, 
none might be apt to find me, — we turned in the other 
direction ; but even there had not advanced far before we 
beheld other pursuers before us. Then down a narrow 
lane between the two parties ; but being now seen, were 
quickly sought to be headed off. In fine, good Pere, 
it was not long before we were caught like flies in a mesh 
between two bands of pursuers ; and being obliged to cut 
our way through one of them at least, were soon engaged 
in mortal affray. 

“ It lasted, as matter of course, for not many minutes, 
I cut down one of the foremost assailants and Barbloche 
struck down a second. Then there came one who, taking 
him unaware at his left side, pierced his heart so that at 
once he fell. I saw the mishap and that the wound was 
mortal. Alas the fury of knowing that ! Was it ever to 
be ordered that my best and truest friends should perish 
through my means or in my cause ? First Arnulf — pure 
hearted and noble boy, striken down by my own hand ; 
then Barbloche, true and brave man-at-arms, only cured 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


221 


of long and wearisome illness to fall in the first hour of 
his release, for my poor sake. Transported with mad fury, 
I struck out wildly hither and thither, doing good execu- 
tion among my increasing assailants ; killing none of them, 
it may be, but grievously wounding more than one. Yet 
were they all too many for me ; and I should soon have 
been sped, had not Barbloche with his last breath come 
to my assistance. 

“ ‘ The church, master, — the church ! ’ he cried. 

“ Even as he spoke he fell back dead ; and I, glancing 
behind, noticed for the first time that I stood before the 
cathedral and had fought my way into the very shadow 
of the porch. To give one farewell stroke which cut 
down my man but shivered my weapon, — then to turn 
and flee within, — this was merely a moment’s action. 
And so, Pere Rouflet, that is all my story, and here I 
am ; and as my right, I ask for sanctuary until my own 
friends can be rallied for my defense.” 

“ Sanctuary you can have. Sir Knight, as I have al- 
ready said ; and for a right, as well. But put off your 
sword, however. No one should dare to approach the 
altar with warlike weapon in his hand. Shall I take and 
preserve it for you ? ” 

For a moment Sir Toys clutched his sword more tightly, 
as though reluctant to have it taken from him and unwill- 
ing to be left entirely defenceless. He remembered that 
there had been instances where even the altar steps 
had not restrained the vengeful passions of men ; and he 


222 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


dreaded lest that profanation might happen now and he 
be cut down like a dog, without a single weapon for 
protection. But further reflection determined him. He 
could not go again into the public ways, for there his 
enemies were watching for him. And it was years since 
the sanctuary of the church had been outraged, though 
men stained with the foulest and most treacherous acts 
had claimed it. Moreover, what protection could there 
be, in any event, through that broken blade ? 

“ Take it then, Pere Rouflet,” he said, unbuckling the 
scabbard and handing that and the shattered weapon to 
the other. “ In truth it can be of little further use, save 
as trophy of not unknightly defence.” 



CHAPTER XV. 

P ERE ROUFLET turned away with a sigh, and 
Loys de Martelle was left alone. At the moment 
his thoughts were none of the most cheering. He felt 
that he had been placed by strange combination of cir- 
cumstances under a ban which among his enemies could 
find no forgiveness, — that however he might be protected 
in that sanctuary for a day or even for a week, the time 
might arrive in which he would be forced by hunger or 
the desperation of weariness to venture again into the 
world, — that for months to come, were he to tarry there 
so long, his enemies would be clustered about him, 
watching and guarding every avenue of escape. What 
then could he do ? 

Nothing ; except to sit for hour after hour devising 
plans for escape, each of which, almost the next moment, 
was thrown aside as impracticable. Meanwhile, as time 
went on, the great cathedral grew if possible yet darker. 
The corbel heads above, for a while faintly visible in the 
reflected moonlight, entirely vanished from sight, — the 
arches spanning the air from nave to transept became 



224 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


only dimly distinguishable, appearing like mere threads 
of moulding separating the space between indistinct con- 
fusion and impenetrable blackness. The only light of a 
cheering nature which could now be seen came from far 
down the long nave and beyond the doorway, where the 
glitter of a silversmith’s shop opposite the cathedral 
threw a faint beam across the narrow street. Upon this 
light Toys now dreamily fixed his gaze. By it, he saw the 
forms of people passing to and fro along the way. Now 
it was a group of belated workwomen hurrying home- 
ward. Now it was a courtier preceded by a link boy 
bearing a flaming torch. And again it was a band of 
noisy young blades swaggering along with wild and reck- 
less yells. As the fugitive strained his gaze forward, he 
felt that, noble and court gallant as he was, he could 
with advantage exchange his state for that of the meanest 
of those passing on in such abundant freedom. Then 
for the instant he wondered whether in the thick dark- 
ness he could not steal forth and evade pursuit, and with 
this hope he half resolved to make the attempt. But at 
that very moment he saw, in clear relief against the 
bright doorway of the silversmith’s shop, two stalwart 
forms arrayed in casques and breastplates and bearing 
naked rapiers in their hands ; and he fell back despair- 
ingly, with recognition of the fact that his enemies were 
argus-eyed and had left no avenue for escape. 

Thrown back upon sad and bitter realization of a hap- 
less lot ; and yet not for long. Youth is elastic in its 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


225 


f 


impulses and well disposed to cheerful thought, if but 
the slightest gleam of encouragement thereto be af- 
forded. As Loys de Martelle drew back again towards 
the region of the choir, he began to reason within himself 
that after all his situation was not altogether desperate. 
He had slain one whom he had greatly loved ; yet this 
had been by dire mischance, and though he could never 
lose his recollection of the deed or cease to sorrow over 
it, there could not remain that weight upon the conscience 
which a deliberate and wilful bloodshed would impose. 
The rage of a powerful family and its cry for vengeance 
were incited fiercely against him ; yet these might in time 
cool down, as opportunity was given for him to explain 
the accidental nature of the deed. Moreover, though he 
were poor in estate and thereby in the number of his re- 
tainers, yet being of high lineage he must needs have 
many friends who would take his part and demand that 
neither in person or reputation he should be wronged. 
Cecile he must lose forever, — that must of course be 
understood, seeing that there was this stain of fraternal 
blood between them ; yet had his affection for her 
never been of such depth that he should now eat out 
his heart for longing after her, and the world was very 
wide and there must be others in it whom he could love 
as well and better. It therefore all came to this, — in 
his more cheerful current of reflection, — that he must 
wait awhile and secure his freedom, then bid farewell 
to present scenes and carry his sword into other lands, 

t 


226 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


where perchance he might yet carve out new fortune and 
honor for himself. No such great hardship after all, 
in that. 

Thus easily giving comfort to himself, he lay down in 
a secluded corner of one of the transepts and sought for 
sleep. The gentle visitant came to him almost at his first 
wish. The hard pavement was not in truth much harder 
or more cold than where he had often slept before be- 
leaguered castle ; and now, even as then, his bodily weari- 
ness made him think lightly of mere personal hardship. 
So, like a tired child he fell into peaceful slumber ; and 
as though he were indeed a child, pleasant dreams wove 
their bright fancies about him. 

Even as in the past days he had dreamed of Manon, so 
now again she came before him. Tender, sweet and lov- 
ing as ever, and with nothing that could give even a sus- 
picion of ill faith and heartlessness. Her face bent over 
his, — her fingers toying caressingly in his locks, — kind and 
gentle words were those she breathed into his ear, trustful 
and affectionate was the glance she fastened upon him, in 
every attitude and expression there was assurance of un- 
faltering devotion. In her presence he felt that every 
element for happiness was complete, — that nothing else 
which the world could offer need give him a longing 
thought. If for the moment Cecile came into his mind, 
— as in the dream she now chanced to come, — he 
thought upon her only as one to whom he was bound 
in gilded slavery, but whom, being so far away, he need 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


227 


not now regard or suffer to obtrude in interruption of 
his present bliss. And so at last he awoke, with that 
pleasant dream still woven in his thoughts. 

“ Strange that I cannot drive her from my mind,” he 
muttered to himself, as he began to recover perception of 
where he was. “ Always, too, the same, — beauteous and 
loving as when first I met her. Why in my dreams can- 
not I preserve that better realization of her perfidy, of 
which my wakeful reasoning has assured me ? ” 

Rising to his feet he looked around, and strove to 
pierce the darkness. The moon had set ; and now there 
was no outward gleam of light to assist in breaking up the 
obscurity. It was near the coming of morn, however ; and 
this could be told by that faint lightening of the gloom, 
which taking something from the full intensity of the 
darkness, here and there allowed faint revelation of most 
prominent objects. Something, indeed, of the more in- 
tense blackness of the atmosphere was now gone, as 
though faint motes of gray had been sprinkled through 
it ; and the white pavement below was beginning to pro- 
ject itself into sight as though being lifted up from some 
unfathomable depth. From this, the heavy gray pillars 
could be seen springing aloft ; yet, for the moment, mak- 
ing slight ascent, however, being soon lost in the upper 
gloom. But almost at once, so rapidly did the new order 
of events assume its place, the outlines of the gray pillars 
gained extension, little by little becoming yet higher re- 
vealed : as though subject to some actual steady growth 


228 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


until they reached at last their full development of height, 
in sculptured capital and thence in springing arch. And 
now the fine gray motes of light working themselves more 
densely through the darkness, the blackness altogether 
gave place to gray, and pillar and arch began to stand 
more accurately revealed ; and grinning corbel heads and 
foliated capitals sprang into fuller sight through the 
gloom, each moment more clearly manifesting their weird 
tracery ; and the long nave and aisles seemed to grow in 
length, even as the pillars had made upward progression ; 
and dotting here and there the long extent, white marble 
tombs and effigies gleamed out ; and a soft pearly tint be- 
gan to steal in at every window, manifesting thus the 
rambling outline of the gothic tracery, but not as yet of 
the stained glass decoration ; — and so the day began to 
dawn. 

“ Manon, — ever Manon ! ” repeated Loys. “ Is there 
to be no relief from this cruel fancy, but must I always 
carry one unworthy object in my mind, — feeling my weak 
inclination at constant variance with my mature reason ? ” 

The light of dawn increased ; and gazing up, he saw 
the great rear window before him, — now fully revealed in 
its mere shape and outline, but as yet, in all its inter- 
mediate decoration, an indistinguishable confusion. See- 
ing this, Loys now laughed aloud. 

“ In truth,” he said, “it. seems as though in this place 
there were safety not only for my body but for my mind 
as well. Elsewhere, I must need, carry in my heart 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


229 


only regretful longings for the return of a baleful past ; 
here, at least, I can contemplate the object of those 
longings with truer judgment and with more accurate per- 
ception of her real unworthiness. It is something, after 
all, to be where I can hold her image always before me ; 
so as to be able, at the instant, to look up and correct 
each morbid fancy.” 

Again giving vent to bitter laughter, he stood at the out- 
side of the choir and gazed up at the great window. And 
now to his surprise he saw that during the last moment, 
from whence he knew not, there had come between him- 
self and the window, a single figure. The figure of a man 
who stood motionless and silent, gazing up in the same 
direction with himself, absorbed in some deep thought, 
apparently, and seemingly unaware that he was not sole 
occupant of the cathedral. An instant more, and Loys 
I recognized in this motionless figure, Pere Rouflet. 

Like unto himself, the Priest had passed the night in 
dreams ; but as it chanced, they were visions of evil and 
disturbing import. Strange, indeed, that it should be so ; 
but as the world at large has its eccentricities, so in dream- 
land are there vagaries unaccountable. The fugitive from 
wrath, with bloodshed upon his memory and ruin dogging 
all his steps, had slept the sleep of innocence and pleasant 
imageries, so readily had the usages of the world enabled 
I him to look upon troubles of all kind with partial equa- 
nimity ; on the other hand the secluded priest, unused to 
|; any thoughts or actions beyond the cloister life, was borne 


230 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


down with anguish by reason of the consciousness of one 
act of seeming sacrilege. In the practice of his art he 
had done despite not only to the memory of a trustful 
friend, but also to the dignity of the prototype that friend 
had been ; how could he ever be pardoned for either of- 
fence ? 

In his dreams he had not, like the Knight, remained 
bound down to circumstance of earth ; but, — whether as 
mortal man or as disembodied spirit he could not tell, 
— he had felt himself wafted away through darkened 
and illimitable space. At the first, it had seemed as 
though he were all alone. Near him was neither form 
nor shadow of any other being ; for he could mark 
the distant stars gleaming cold and cheerless, with no 
obscuration by intervening object. So foi a little while. 
Then, rather through some inate perception than from 
outward observation, there came to him the sense of 
being surrounded by other forms, — a feeling of being 
no longer alone. Yet for a while he could see no 
one. Gradually, however, the gloom began to brighten, 
the stars to pale away into indistinctness and little by 
little altogether to vanish ; and then, he knew not whence, 
there came an ever increasing brightness. With that, he 
began to discern that there were myriads of shadowy forms 
about him, — every instant more and more clearly growing 
out of their first faintness of hue, — at last appearing white 
robed and glorious, — not winged, indeed, as his waking 
fancy might have portrayed, but seeming to be floating 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


231 


onward, by means of some mystic volition of their own, — 
ever speeding through endless space in the same direc- 
tion with himself. Continuing thus for a period which 
might have been moments or years, so little did he retain 
the power to take the measurement of time ; and then these 
myriads, pausing in their direct flight, seemed to turn 
aside and circle around one central object. Around a 
figure white robed and glorious like themselves ; standing 
upon fleecy clouds, erect and motionless. Was this his 
patron saint Clotilde, or was it Manon ? He could not 
tell ; for it bore the same impress of serene loveliness that 
his art had made equally the attribute of either. He only 
knew that the countenance was unutterably sweet, com- 
passionate and beautiful, — in far greater degree than his 
imagination had hitherto been able to conceive, ten 
thousand times more than his poor pencil had been able 
to portray. Standing thus alone in her ineffable beauty 
of attitude and expression, she seemed to gaze with kindly 
grace and benignity upon each member of the circling 
throng. He, too, following the others in that constant 
round, sought to attract her gaze ; for, as it appeared to 
him, he had been oppressed the while with fear and 
trembling, — bearing upon him the weight of some great 
sin, the nature of which he could not bring to recollec- 
tion ; and he thought that if he could only for a moment 
sun himself in the effulgence of her smile, he might be 
forgiven for the sin, whatever it might be. Three times 
he passed around the circle, seeking her kindly glance in 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


232 

vain. Then at last she turned towards him ; and as her 
eye met his own in recognition, he saw that her expression 
changed at once, her smile began to lose its character of 
sweet benevolence, her gaze to grow cold, her whole 
aspect scornful and forbidding ; in all respect she seemed 
to resolve herself by successive steps into another being, 
even as he had so wantonly portrayed the changes and 
downfall of her pure nature upon the great window of the 
cathedral. Then, with one flash of thought he remem- 
bered what had been his sin. And with broken sob chok- 
ing his utterance, he had awakened. 

Awakened to remember what he had done the evening 
before, — to wonder how far his hasty action might have 
transformed his masterpiece, — whether it had restored it 
to itself or irrecoverably had ruined it, — whether his fault 
hereafter would lie in the first alteration of it or in its 
total destruction. Like Sir Toys, Pere Rouflet had seen 
by the faint gray motes of light mingling with the 
deeper darkness, that the day was about to break ; and 
urged by an impatience and anxiety that nothing could 
subdue he had arisen, with intent to repair at once to 
the cathedral, and by the very first gleam of morning to 
learn how far his invading hand had been productive of 
good or evil. And having let himself into the church by 
the little side door leading through his studio, he now 
stood between the picture and the Knight, unknowingly 
hindering in part Sir Toys’ projected contemplation of 
it. Nor did he think how near the other stood, until 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


233 


he felt himself lightly touched upon the shoulder. 

“ You are up betimes, Pere Rouflet,” said the Knight. 
“Is it always thus, that you arise before the dawn to 
contemplate your masterpiece ? ” 

Hearing who spoke, Pere Rouflet shuddered. Most 
unaccountably in last night’s dreams or speculations about 
the picture, it had escaped his memory that whatever the 
result of his hasty work upon it, Sir Loys would be there 
to see. And what upon Sir Loys would be the effect of 
its restoration, or what more perfect safety to himself 
might there not be even in its destruction ? Between 
that wanton injury to art and the replacement of its 
original beauty, how now to choose ? 

“ I have rested ill. Sir Knight,” Pere Rouflet answered. 

“ Therefore it is I am so early aroused.” 

“ 111 rested, you say ? So has it not been with me. 
Lo ! I have had sweet and consoling dreams, as though I 
were a child lying upon its mother’s breast. Yet what may 
be the benefit of that, so long as I am awakened to anx- 
iety, — or what, perhaps, the evil of unruly dreams to 
yourself, if you arouse at last to calm and soothing 
occupations ? It comes to this, indeed, that friendly or 
unfriendly visions have brought us to the same pass.” 

“ And how. Sir Knight ? ” 

“ Why, simply that we are now standing side by side in ■ 
front of yonder painting, and equally striving to gather 
peace from it. See you not in what several ways ? You^ 
that you may disperse the sullen and frightful humors of 


234 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


the night, by contemplation of artistic excellences that 
owe to you their creation ; for none can doubt that, in 
spite of what I find amiss, there is great beauty in the 
painting. And I, that by dwelling remorselessly upon the 
picture’s most flagrant omissions and defects and its 
abounding revelations of attributes of character to be de- 
spised, I may repulse those morbid impulses and long- 
ings that, despite my reason, fret my soul. Which being 
so, Pere Rouflet, let us stand as men united in common 
purpose, and await that broader glow of dawn which shall 
satisfy both our desires and interests.” 

“ It may happen,” murmured Pere Rouflet, “ that 
we shall both have our purposes fulfilled ; and yet 
it may not be, as well. Do you not realize. Sir 
Knight, that much of our ability to understand art 
aright, either in adulation or disparagement, may often 
be influenced by the prevailing tenor of our mind ? 
That if we are in passing charitable mood, our kindly 
criticism may then be so greatly exercised that — ” 

“ Think you so, Pere Rouflet ? ” the other interrupted, 
with a harsh laugh. “Nay, if you fear lest now my 
mood of mind should be constrained in favor of yonder 
image, be reassured. Never yet have I felt so strongly 
the necessity of taking close, unsparing and unforgiv- 
ing note of every line and hue that can still more 
amply than ever before arouse my perfect enmity and 
complete my disinthralment. See, already the sun must 
be near its rising, and the outline of the figure begins 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


235 


at last to grow into shape and semblance of woman- 
hood.” 

“ It is so, Sir Knight,” — and in his apprehension Pere 
Rouflet’s heart sank heavily within him. “ Yes, even now 
the outline begins to appear before us. Think you not — 
now that more collectedly we can study the real merit of 
my work, — that in this outline there is something forced 
and strained, — a lack of that grace and harmony which 
j once, in our more prejudiced eyes, we imagined there to 
exist ? ” 

I “ Nay, good Pere; in so much, at least, you wrong 
I yourself. Whatever may be the admitted defects in coun- 
tenance and expression of your saint, in attitude it is 
i surely unapproachable. There is nothing therein con- 
i strained or unnatural, — in that, there is every attribute of 
j glorious majesty, — there is exceeding loveliness, — were 
I this figure all, and were it as suggestive of Manon as is 

I ■ the face, why then indeed Look ! even while I speak, 

I the light has grown stronger and the face is beginning to 
brighten into some distinctness of outline. A feature 
here and a line there, — and soon we shall find portrayed 
the whole expression of it, as well.” 

“ Soon indeed. Sir Knight ; and with all its seeming 
lack of loving sympathy. Will it not pain you to look 
longer ? Retire therefore, and do not let your eyes 
rest further upon it. Be content with the sight of 
figure and attitude, since those so amply satisfy you ; 
and do not compel yourself to search for those other 


236 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


attributes which cannot fail to be displeasing to you.” 

“ Why look you, Pere Rouflet ! Have I not already 
told you that the utmost of my present need is to await 
with eager expectancy the painting's full revelation of 
heartlessness and perfidy? To feast my gaze unrelent- 
ingly upon this exact picturing of selfish nature and cold 
calculation, so that thereby I may the better wean myself 
from that weak spirit of relenting that in my lonely mo- 
ments so constantly threatens to betray my manhood’s 
self respect ? Therefore must I stay. Now see again. 
The light grows stronger still, and more and more the 
features are projected into distinctness. The eyes, at one 
time seeming to me so filled with loving tenderness, — the 
lips with their soft curve, once deemed by me almost 
seraphic in their gentle smile ; — even now, something of 
their olden expression lingers around them, bringing back 
their former charm, and despite my present knowledge, 
bidding fair to cheat me into renewed faith. It may be 
that it needs yet stronger light to bring into plainer sight 
those unworthy traits of character which only my late 
disinthralment has revealed to me. For lack of that 
bright sunshine, must I be baulked of my projected re- 
newal of comforting scorn and hate ? Will the sun remain 
all day wrapped in clouds and thereby make my waken- 
ing fancies a mere continuation of my dreams and still 
betray my judgment into weakness ? ” 

Even as the Knight thus spoke, the sun bursting from 
the thick veil of cloud in which it had arisen, poured its 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


237 


resplendent glories through the stained window in gleam 
of wondrous beauty. And gazing upward, Sir Loys be- 
held the great masterpiece of art, restored as it had been 
a month before, — bright and brilliant with gold and purple 
— not one line of its surpassing excellence obscured, — not 
one impress of loveliness impaired, — glorious as ever be- 
fore, in every expression of serenity, grace and peace. 
The bended head seemed inclined towards him with 
kindly recognition, — the soft dovelike eyes to gaze upon 
him with loving approbation, — the lips to whisper pardon 
for anything that he had thought or done amiss,— the 
folded hands to call him to herself. It was indeed his 
long lost Manon once more beaming upon him with inef- 
fable outpouring of love. 

Bewildered and perplexed, the Knight for a moment 
gazed up in speechless wonderment, — then, in spirit of 
mute inquiry, turned his eyes fixedly upon Pere Rouflet. 
What there he saw was not surprise like unto his own, but 
rather pale betrayal of nervous terror, — a sinking back as 
though anticipating angry outbreak, — eyes raised in im- 
ploring supplication as though begging remission for a 
detected sin, — in all, the impress of one weighed down 
with abject remorse and apprehension. At once and as by 
an inspiration, the whole great mystery stood revealed. 
The subtle steps by which he had been led into cruel ill- 
faith and scorn, — the nervous haste with which at times 
Pere Rouflet had hurried him from his contemplation of 
the painting, doubtless thereby to avoid all chance of un- 


238 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


fortunate encounter, — the little gray clad figure at the 
convent gate and the passing figure of the night before, 
neither of them after all merely a thing of chance re- 
semblance or of ghostly fancy, — all these came upon 
him in flood of recollection, and plainly told the story 
of long continued studiously contrived deception. 

“ Pere Rouflet,” he thundered forth, laying his hand so 
heavily upon the shoulder of the other as almost to crush 
his frail figure to the pavement, “ you have deceived and 
played with me ! Manon is yet alive and true to me. 
Were you other than you are, by all the saints ! you 
should answer with your life for this.” 



CHAPTER XVI. 

“ I^TAY, harm him not,” at that instant' cried a voice 

-L N behind the Knight. Turning, Sir Toys beheld a 
small, quiet figure in garb which for the moment he did 
not recognize, except to note that it was in somewhat sin- 
gular and questionable taste. The man himself was mid- 
dle aged and with smoothly shaven face, whereby full 
prominence was given to its saturnine expression, some- 
what relieved by twinkle of the eyes suggestive of latent 
capability of humor. 

“Lay not your hand upon him,” the man continued. 
“ Can you find no better food for wrath, but that you 
must attack the very priest at the altar ? Has your heart 
not already had its fill of slaughter, but that even here 
you must stretch forth the red hand ? See ! he upon 
whom you would have wreaked your vengeance is not 
worthy of the trouble, even were he not a shaveling. For 
lo ! how now he steals trembling away and takes refuge 
in the shelter of his sacristy.” 

“ And who are you that would dictate my conduct to 
me ? ” asked the Knight. 


240 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


“ One whom you have lately seen, but do not remem- 
ber, inasmuch as he is of such lowly condition compared 
with yourself,” the other answered. “ Lowly, indeed, 
as he then lay beneath your steed’s hoofs and crawl- 
ed out thence with chance of a bruise or two,” he 
continued with a chuckle. “Yet of that I do not com- 
plain, — of a certainty I bear no malice. You do not 
know who I am, comrade ? See then if this will bring 
me to your august recollection.” 

With that, the man shook the folds of his short tunic, 
and thereby gave note of tinkling bells which until that 
moment had been hanging silent. Then he plucked from 
his breast a tall cloth cap, also trimmed with little bells ; 
and dragging the cap over his ears, waggishly shook his 
head from side to side, causing the bells to ring merrily 
in concert with those upon his tunic. 

“ You know me now, comrade ? The Fool of the Grand 
Duke of Mantua, at your service.” 

“And being so, are you here to do me injury ? Has 
it come to this, that you have been sent, — as one of too 
little sense to find a sin in violation of sanctity, — to work 
your master’s will upon me ? Is it with a fool’s truncheon 
that I am to be put to death, as one unworthy of knightly 
sword or even of hired bravo ? ” 

“Nay, nay; you speak in merriment, both as regards 
yourself and me. As to my matter of little wit, I think 
that you are not unknowing of the fact that a Court Fool 
is only a fool when in direct line of his duty ; and that to 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


241 


be a proper fool requires more than enough brains to 
serve for successful courtier. And as for the power to 
work an injury upon you, — know, indeed, that I am now 
rather your comrade in misfortune, asking sympathy and 
brotherly friendship.” 

“And how ? ” 

“ In this wise, indeed. You should be well aware that 
though a Fool is privileged to say whatever he pleases, 
there is a limitation to it, after all, and he must be dis- 
creet enough to utter his jests at no unseasonable hour. 
Otherwise, for want of such discretion, mischief may en- 
sue. Hence, when yester evening I met the Duke, my 
master, coming towards his lodging, and knew not as yet 
that he had had affray with yourself, I chose an unpropi- 
tious moment for a passing jibe, and I saw the fierce anger 
at once arise upon his countenance. ‘ Hang me up that 
Fool ! ’ he gave order to his chief of archers. By my 
faith ! I felt for the minute in sore strait ; and when the 
archers seized me, I began to repent me greatly for my 
past sins, more especially for the sin of that last danger- 
ous jest. But when my lord’s back was turned, easily I 
slipped through their hands. In truth they knew too well 
to proceed to extremity upon me ; seeing that the Duke 
would on the morrow readily forget his wrath, and would 
. most likely visit vengeance upon them should they have 
taken him at his first hasty word and thereby have put 
out of the world th^ most wise Fool in Italy. And 
yet—” 


242 UNDER THE BELLS. 

“Yet what, would you say?” 

“ In faith, comrade, when I learned a little after, what 
had happened, I began to think that perchance this time 
his anger might take longer in the cooling than at certain 
times before ; and therefore, for better assurance of the 
safety of my neck, I have this morning fled to sanctuary. 
It will be for a day or two, perhaps ; then will I come 
forth and take my accustomed place unquestioned, and 
for a while will strive to conduct my conversation with 
more proper discreetness.” 

“ And I,” responded Loys, “ will hope by such time to 
be myself released.” 

The Jester paused for a moment’s thought, then slowly 
shook his head, first taking oif his cap and putting it 
away inside his tunic, so that the bells should not by 
their ringing disturb the gravity of his opinion. 

“ I know not how all that may turn out, comrade,” he 
said. “ I am not one of those who believe you to have 
done that deed with malice ; but then, being a Fool, I am 
one who can exercise his own opinion. Were I a simple 
courtier or man-at-arms, I must needs carry my duty to 
the point of believing as do all the others.” 

“ And that is — ” 

“ Hearken, comrade, if you would know the truth. 
When yesterday I crawled out from beneath your steed’s 
hoofs, I thought for the moment how fine a thing it was 
to be a titled noble, with privilege to ride over whom he 
pleased, — how poor a thing to be a Fool and have no 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


243 


power to resent it. But now, in truth, I would not change 
places with you. Fon unless by mistake, there is little 
hope for you to leave this place alive, considering what 
all men say.” 

“ And what may that be, indeed ? ” 

“ That you struck down the young de Courtrai with 
deliberate purpose, though in pretence of accident, — 
wishing thus to avenge yourself for some fancied partici- 
pation by him in breach of contract with his sister. That 
when he lay wounded and might have recovered if you 
had tended him until assistance came, you departed from 
his side and left him alone to bleed to death. That is the 
story they all tell, comrade. That I for one believe it 
not can be nothing to the purpose. It is sufficient that 
all the others do ; it being well understood, though not 
expressed, that nothing should be neglected whi'ch, for 
purposes of the Italian alliance, may serve to make per- 
manent the breach between the Martelles and Cour- 
trais.” 

“ Say you so ? ” responded the Knight ; and it could 
be seen that the intelligence gave a more sombre cast to 
his thoughts than anything which had gone before, 
though still he strove to pluck up heart. “ These are 
not pleasant tidings, indeed. Yet there is nothing in 
them which should dismay me, after all ; seeing that I 
have plenteous friends and adherents of my own to rally 
round me, and who will not in the end ^llow my 
fair fame to be abused.” 


^44 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


So saying, the Knight strolled away, feeling that there 
was something repugnant in the other’s familiarity of ad- 
dress, even though it was not meant in unfriendly spirit, 
and bore little more than the customary license allowed 
to the conversation of a professed Court Fool. There- 
fore he passed on to the other side ; and suddenly, the 
morning air being chilly, he began to feel in his right arm 
a sharp, shooting pain. Placing his hand upon the spot, 
he detected a clammy, cold, sticky substance, while his 
fingers bore red stains when he removed them. Then for 
the first time he realized that in the encounter of the pre- 
vious evening he had been wounded ; unknowingly while 
the excitement of conflict had lasted, but now in the 
calmness of reflection and with his blood chilled by the 
tomblike currents of air that circled throughout the 
building, becoming aroused to the knowledge of his new 
misfortune. It was merely a flesh wound, indeed, not 
dangerous if properly treated ; but for all that, through 
the neglect of the past few hours, was destined to cause 
him much suffering. Every moment the pains increased 
and tormenting thirst began to parch his lips. Unloosing 
his sash he endeavored to bind up the wound ; but hav- 
ing only his left hand to work with, was foiled for a while 
in each attempt, — the scarf continually slipping aside. 
Still, after a time, he succeeded in binding it about him 
with some approach to stability ; then searched for some 
retired position whence he could observe all that trans- 
spired, without being himself too readily seen by others. 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


245 


There was a corner of one of the transepts so environed by 
pillars and cumbrous mouldings and projecting monu- 
ments that it was dark when elsewhere all was light. 
Thither he retired ; and in that obscurity standing against 
the broad base of a pillar, looked forth upon the outward 
world, awaiting with hopeful assurance the coming of his 
own friends to his relief. It was time tttat they should 
manifest themselves ; for the sun, now risen higher, had 
chased the shadows from every dark crevice of the 
arches, the huge bronze doors had already been thrown 
open, and the throng of passers-by in the street beyond 
could be seen momentarily increasing in volume. 

Now and then, some humble devotee separated herself 
from this widening current, entered the cathedral and 
knelt down upon the pavement, remaining there for many 
minutes in impassioned fervor of devotion, and seemingly 
unwilling ever to quit the sacred place. Then, more 
speedy and alert in their devotions came others of higher 
degree ; some retainer of the Court complacently adjust- 
ing the curve of the white plume upon his velvet bonnet, 
while he muttered hasty prayer, and taking good care to 
walk out by the side of the handsome maid who had 
chanced to worship near him, and was not unwilling to 
let him pour his fulsome adulations into her ear, — or some 
old noble gallantly escorting a painted dowager, and stop- 
ping at the door to offer her upon his finger’s tip, and with 
his most obsequious display of style and grace, the holy 
water. And after these, others again of low degree, — ar- 


246 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


tisans in their leathern aprons or groups of peasants in 
coarse garments and clattering wooden shoes. Soon, there 
were fifty people, more or less devoutly mumbling their 
prayers throughout the building. Not one of these, how- 
ever, cast a glance upon the fugitive leaning against the 
pillar and gazing around him. In his isolation from them, 
he seemed as rnuch alone and thrown off from all human 
communication as though he had lain down in a desert to 
die. 

Now and again, however, others came in ; not to go 
through their devotions, but only to gratify their hate or 
curiosity. These persons the Knight instinctively knew, 
the moment they entered. They did not steal in trem- 
blingly, faltering beneath the impression which the sanc- 
tity of the place was wont to make upon hearts attuned to 
feelings of reverential awe ; but they stepped across the 
threshold as coolly as though entering their own homes 
and at once gazed inquiringly about them in search of the 
object of their coming. From this public scrutiny, Toys 
would have given worlds to be able to retire, but he had 
no other resource than to remain and endure it. Now 
it was a student with his cap set jauntily on the side 
of his head, who making the circuit of the cathedral and 
at last finding him whom he sought, stood for a moment 
looking upon him with scornful gaze. Then came a knight 
of the Court, bearing upon his cap the insignia of the 
Courtrais, and with quiet glance swiftly swept the place 
to be assured that the fugitive had not escaped. Recog- 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


247 


nizing him at last still standing against the pillar, he 
glared defiance, significantly touched the hilt of his sword, 
drew it half forth from the scabbard, let it fall back again 
with a clash and haughtily departed. Again it was a 
group of children who had heard of the encounter of the 
night before; and who, now softly entering, stole slowly 
nearer and nearer to the actor in the scene, pointed him 
out to each other, whispered their comments, and so re- 
mained for minutes, which to the fugitive seemed hours. 
None of these persons either in act or sympathy seemed 
friends of Sir Loys. Could it be true, then, as the Court 
Fool had hinted, that there was a current of popular con- 
demnation which would make even his own adherents 
stand aloof? 

Thus filled with foreboding thoughts, which constantly 
increased in power and intensity as the long hours passed 
and brought not even whisper of active practical sympathy, 
the Knight stood concealed behind his pillar. Morning 
and afternoon slowly slipped away ; and at last once more 
the soft twilight began to close in about the gray sculp- 
tured walls and to deepen into evening. A few last rays of 
the setting sun gleamed through the stained glass of the 
windows, fell broad.spread upon the marbled pavement of 
the nave and flooded the tesselated blocks with segments 
of gold and purple light ; for a moment continuing bright 
and dazzling, then flickering in their glow with uncertain 
action, and at last gently fading away. In the arches 
above, the gloom fast thickening until cornice and groin 


248 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


grew more and more indistinct, — the delicate stone tracery 
of the huge capitals becoming blended into confused, un- 
meaning masses, — the grim sculptured heads that gazed 
down from the spring of the arches seeming stamped 
with more than their ordinary grotesque expression, and 
so retiring still further into the ever deepening darkness. 
Then the light shone out from the silversmith’s little shop 
on the other side, and the last worshippers began to leave 
the cathedral, — so the shadows of evening gradually stole 
in about the scene. 

The great bronze doors were not yet closed for the 
night, and the hum of voices in the street was very pleas- 
ant to the imprisoned man. It made him more deeply 
sigh for freedom, and he wondered whether he might not 
at last glide forth into the open air unperceived. The 
thought might be worth the trial, at least. Perhaps his 
guard might have remitted their watchfulness ; or per- 
haps when so many persons had passed in and out 
half shrouded in the darkness, the form of one more 
person leaving might elude observation. So Sir Toys 
slowly and cautiously approached the door and peeped 
forth. The way seemed clear of enemies ; and with a 
heart bounding with hope, he took a step onward into 
the street. But, at this moment a single figure which 
had remained crouching behind the nearest buttress 
started forward, drawing a short dagger as he did so. 
At a whistle others emerged from retired corners, and 
the baffled fugitive beheld six or eight sturdy armed 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


249 


men preparing to dispute his flight the moment he had 
fully emerged. With a muttered exclamation of disap- 
pointment, he re-entered the cathedral which never had 
appeared to him so gloomy as after that faint perception 
of the soft evening air, and retired once more to his 
nook beside the transept pillar. 

I An hour passed on. The great bronze door had long 
been closed and the fugitive seemed left alone for the 
night ; when suddenly the grating of a key was heard in 
the lock and three or four men in cloaks and with lanterns 
entered. At the first, Toys de Martelle believed that his 
enemies had become wearied with waiting for him out- 
side, and had resolved to inflict their vengeance upon him 
in the stillness of the night and regardless of the privi- 
leges of the place ; and he straightened up his figure for 
I deadly conflict. Though of a surety he would be over- 

I come in the end, yet would he sell his life as dearly as 

\ possible. 

j| “ Are you looking for me ? ” therefore he cried. “ Then 
5 come, and take me if you can.” 

The men did not answer, inasmuch as they did not 
comprehend the purport of his speech. For the cathe- 
dral being so long and so deeply arched, words that might 
I be spoken at one end reached the other merely in con- 
fused unmeaning murmur. Therefore the men now heard 
I only an unintelligible sound ; and supposing it to be a 
j complaint for assistance from some pent up refugee, they 
i scarcely turned their heads, but resolutely pressed onward 


250 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


to their task. One, indeed, raised a lantern above his 
head in vain attempt to spy out the far off speaker ; then 
without a word followed his companions. 

Groping clumsily along, they traversed half the length 
of the nave and then turned into one of the transepts. 
Here beneath a low arch which spanned one corner, they 
stopped, set down their lanterns and threw off their coarse 
cloaks ; disclosing, thereby, shovels and crowbars which 
had hitherto been concealed. With these, they proceeded 
to tear up a portion of the pavement, and throw out the 
hard packed earth beneath it. 

Relieved, thereby, of his apprehension, Loys de Mar- 
telle now stealthily approached to watch the work ; for 
the lights, dimly as they burned, somewhat enlivened that 
portion of the cathedral, and after the neglect and soli- 
tude of the past day he began to have feverish desire to 
listen to the sounds of the human voice, even though he 
might take no part in the conversation. Therefore he 
glided from pillar to pillar until he approached one from 
which he could easily watch the men at their task, and 
behind this he stood. 

Meanwhile the men toiled steadily on without a word 
or giving utterance to any sound, excepting their quick 
deep involuntary breathing as they plied the crowbars and 
shovels. Soon the pavement for many feet around was 
torn up, then the earth lightly heaped thereupon, and in 
a few moments a pit of considerable depth was dug. As 
it became deeper, two of the men leaped into it, and still 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


251 


threw out the earth until at last only their heads appeared 
above the level of the pavement. Then for a moment 
they paused to breathe and wipe the perspiration from 
their faces ; and one of them exclaimed : 

“ Surely he can now rest safe enough without being put 
away deeper, 1 should think.” 

“ Yes,” said the second. “ And here is the coffin of an- 
other of the family, just where we placed it last. Listen ! ” 

With that he thrust his crowbar downward, and it gave 
forth a hollow sound, — the sound of striking upon half rot- 
ted wood. Then the men jumped out and prepared to go 
away ; and Loys de Martelle moved with curiosity, stepped 
from behind his pillar and confronted them. 

“Whose grave is that you are digging, my men?” he 
asked. 

One of them lifted his lantern, and noting the knightly 
costume of the person before him, began to make respect- 
ful answer ; then another tapped the first upon the arm 
and whispered something into his ear. At this the face 
of the man changed with expression of ferocity, and his 
voice became harsh and guttural, and he placed his lan- 
tern close against one of the upturned pavement stones 
and said : 

“ Read for yourself, master. There ! ” 

With a thrill of horror, Loys de Martelle decyphered 
the word ‘ De Courtrai ! ’ This, then, was the family 
tomb, and he had been watching the digging of his vic- 
tim’s grave. 


252 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


“ How like you it ?” cried one of the men in a scorn- 
ful tone. “ Is it deep enough ? You, in good truth, 
should know.” 

“ If not, let him dig it deeper himself,” said another. 
“ By the mass ! he should be made to dig it all, for it is 
he who has prepared the filling of it. — And who are you ? ” 
he added to a new person appearing suddenly upon the 
scene. 

“ Who am I ? ” was the rejoinder ; and for other an- 
swer the new comer shook his tunic until the bells rang, and 
then plucking his cap from his bosom placed it upon his 
head, and danced his head this side and that, until his 
whole person rang out like a chime. “ Know you not, 
then, the Fool of the Grand Duke of Mantua, now in 
holy sanctuary and thereby trying to save the head that 
has been sorely endangered by its ill-timed wit 7 ” 

Upon hearing this, the men crowded around, shook him 
by the hand and with close questioning asked narration 
of his adventures. Then, in a moment, while Loys de 
Martelle found himself so roughly repulsed by the brutal 
taunts of the gravediggers, the Court Fool was seated 
among them in pleasant familiar intercourse. They 
listened greedily to his jokes and stories. Some thought 
to plan escape for him, but this could not be done with- 
out risk to themselves ; nor was it worth the while, inas- 
much as before long the Jester could depend upon his 
master’s pardon. But in default of his escape, the grav^e- 
diggers endeavored to add to his comfort as much as lay 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


253 


in their present power, by contributions ; one giving him 
a flask of wine and another some dry bread ; and at the 
end of an hour Sir Loys, looking from his corner, saw the 
Jester having much enjoyed the pleasure of social inter- 
course, rapturously taking leave of his newly gained 
friends. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

L ittle need that Loys de Martelle should conde- 
scend to answer the jibes of base born churls 
with other than contemptuous silence ; little other than 
sorrow and remorse for him to let his eyes wander to- 
wards the newly made grave of him whom he had slain. 
Therefore, the night being now well advanced, he re- 
paired once more to his secluded nook among the clus- 
tered pillars, there again to seek forgetfulness of his 
troubles. And turning his mind as far as in him lay from 
further contemplation of all these miseries, he flung him- 
self prostrate upon the cold pavement, rested his aching 
head upon his arm thrown up behind him, and awaited 
sleep. When he had there slumbered upon the previous 
night, sweet visions had appeared to soothe him. Then 
his body had needed rest from the harsh strain of conflict 
and pursuit ; now both body and mind required repose. 
Surely, therefore, the pleasant dreams that then had visi- 
ted him might again and with as ready grace, be sent 
down from Heaven for his consolation. 

Alas, that the waking thoughts cannot always be car- 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


255 


ried into the visions of the night, and that the desire for 
the soul’s comfort so seldom finds in dreams its sweet 
sequence and fruition ! All that night, Loys tossed from 
side to side with the torturings of distressful shadows. 
No more the gentle face of Manon came with it’s soft gaz- 
ing into his eyes ; the time for such pleasant illusion 
seemed all past. Doubt and anxiety and the increasing 
pain of his hitherto little regarded wound began now to 
work their united wills upon him, and in place of seraphic 
fancies and dearly loved memories there came fast shift- 
ing visions of terror and alarm. At times he saw him 
whom he had so fatefully slain, lying stark and pale be- 
fore him. Upon the heart of the young page was im- 
posed the stone inscribed with the name De Courtrai ; 
and the body, which in its manifestations of life seemed 
yet no corse, continually struggled to arise from beneath 
the burden, in order to attack the innocent slayer. At 
other times the sleeper dreamed that he was standing be- 
neath the gallows tree ; and as he took his last look of life 
he saw among the crowd below, the Jester surrounded by 
the gravediggers, all pointing up at him with uncouth 
gestures. And when at last he awoke and found the 
morning light streaming in upon him, he arose not in 
the fulness of the hope that had sustained him the 
previous morning, but rather in the despondency of sink- 
ing heart and failing strength. 

Even then, however, after a moment or two of thought- 
fulness, during which, leaning motionless against the 


256 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


pillar, he bent his eyes upon the ground and strove to 
gain correct realization of his situation, there came some 
faint sparks of hope to give him temporary courage. 
Worn and haggard he now felt himself to be, — bereft of 
all that elasticity that had enabled him to look his for- 
tune steadily in the face and enter into disputatious 
quarrel with the Priest ; but who, after all, could tell 
what the day might not bring forth in his favor ? Could 
one day be so much like another, indeed, that both should 
be equally weighted with misery ? Might not his friends 
at last come forward, if not to rescue, at least to sustain 
and comfort him ; until, with better knowledge of what 
had happened, the popular acclaim should turn in his 
favor ? Of a truth, it was to be expected that his ene- 
mies among whom his mischance had happened, should 
be the first to know of it ; but now that a whole day had 
elapsed, there were more chance that his friends should 
learn the truth and come forward in his behalf. There 
were those who had known him in the' wars, — and some 
who had sought to be his esquires, — and not a few inti- 
mates of the Court and yeomanry whom he had be- 
friended with his protection and purse ; from out of all 
these diverse elements, surely there should be gathered 
the nucleus of a party in his favor. He would wish to 
live, — nay, it was incumbent upon him to baffie hate and 
live on for many years to come, now that he felt assured 
that Manon was' not dead, and that she was still faithful 
to him. 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


257 


They did not come, those so ardently expected friends. 
But as upon the previous day, his enemies did not cease 
to throng about him. The watchful men-at-arms, enter- 
ing and silently contemplating him from a distance, to 
make sure that he had not escaped, — the children ap- 
proaching with timid step and gazing upon him with 
wonderment, as though he were a captured wild beast, — 
the foes of high degree coming closer and tightening 
their grasp about their sword hilts in the fierce hate of 
their near survey of him, — none of these failed again to 
appear. And as before, Toys de Martelle stood at his 
post silently undergoing that baneful scrutiny, and with 
mustering of bravest resolution and undauntedness of 
mien endeavoring to answer all defiances. 

So passed the morning. Gradually as the hours 
crowded by, each bringing a less hopeful view of his 
condition, he felt himself growing more worn and hag- 
gard, less able to endure with calmness this unfriendly 
scrutiny. Not alone that his mind grew more despairing 
and unquiet, but that his body, also, added its incentives 
to increasing misery. For now, hunger began to assail 
him. For nearly two days he had eaten or drank noth- 
ing ; and this, though at first disregarded as a discomfort 
that had hitherto often befallen him, failed not at last to 
make itself felt. His wound, too, pained him more than 
before, the rudely placed bandage having become hope- 
lessly disarranged. There were moments when he felt that 
he could have surrendered life with joy, for a draught of 


258 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


water or a morsel of bread. And there were other times 
when the phases of his distress would change, and mere 
bodily pain or discomfort would leave him for a while, 
and in their place would come such weakness that it was 
difficult not to sink down in abject helplessness. Then 
again, with pain and weakness combined, there would be 
moments when he became almost insensible ; yet never 
without some dim consciousness of his situation attending 
him. He would stand against the pillar, with almost as 
erect and defiant mien as at the first, so cogently did the 
habit of his mind control him ; and through his brain, 
strange, weird images would pass, circling around him 
in confusing groups, impressing themselves upon him 
with such semblance of reality that for the instant he 
would seem to lose perception of their falsity ; yet all 
the while he would dimly see the groined arches span- 
ning the roof above him and the grinning corbel heads 
gazing down upon him, and would plainly hear the echo- 
ing footfalls as one person after another entered or de- 
parted. 

Noon and the smaller hours beyond slowly crept over 
the dial plate. Then, with sudden resolution of change, 
hoping perhaps that in variety of place there might be 
relief, Loys de Martelle left his pillar and passed out of 
the transept. Surely he had done enough for display of 
courage and fortitude, in having so long remained in that 
one place, to face the angry scowls and scrutiny of his 
enemies. Let him now wander away into some other 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


259 


quarter of the building, where he could be alone. And 
were he in that seclusion to yield for a chance moment 
or two to the impulse of succumbing to his suffering 
rather than be compelled by the presence of others to 
assume a fortitude too rigorous for any one uninter- 
ruptedly to bear, it should not be to his discredit. Now 
for the instant the cathedral was empty ; there could be 
no one to note his departure. Therefore, in his craving 
for some solitude, he passed from the transept and slowly 
and in listless spirit wandered down the aisle. And 
doing this, it seemed as though in this new direction of 
his impulse, some long pent up fount of fancy was set 
free within him, since now again there came before him 
certain weird phantoms of imagination, confusing all his 
thoughts and purposes. Phantoms less dream-like, and 
therefore for the most part seemingly more real and tangi- 
ble than any that had yet obtruded themselves before him, 
— singly and in pairs, and yet again in vast confusing 
throng, ever increasing in number as he slowly advanced, 
as if through the vanguard of the spirit-army he had 
come at last to its main body, — all these in that short 
passage along the aisle confronted him ; and though there 
were some which presented themselves with loving and 
encouraging aspect, others showed such threatening ap- 
pearance that there were moments when he was almost 
ready to retreat. Why strive, indeed, against these 
powers of the air, thus seeking to bar his path ? But 
taking courage he pressed forward, and doing so, the 


26 o 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


weird shapes parted and disappeared before him ; and 
for the moment, the confusing films once more cleared 
away from his disordered brain. As before, the arched 
pillars stood out advanced in long unvarying line ; cold, 
severe and motionless, with no shape incorporeal or real 
to interrupt him. And passing his hand across his eyes 
as though to brush away the last suggestions of errant 
fancy, he dragged himself slowly down the length of the 
aisle ; — then coming to a small open doorway in the 
thickness of the further wall, listlessl-y entered and began 
to climb a winding stairway within. 

The way grew more narrow as he advanced. Here 
and there the stairway seemed to terminate ; but only 
that at the last apparent step it might bend and twist in a 
new direction. Great beams covered with the dust and 
cobwebs of centuries stretched across the path, or inclined 
overhead in close proximity. But still the captive continu- 
ed on ; until suddenly the stairway came to an end and 
he emerged into the light of day. Then he found him- 
self upon the cathedral roof. 

He stood jyst where not many days before, Cecile had 
stood beside Pere Rouflet. Like unto her, he now gazed 
down upon the little city ; but from the gloomy coloring 
of his thoughts, with far different feelings than she had 
known. Free from care and buoyant with youth and 
health, and with her heart attuned to joy by the bright 
sunlight lovingly bathing her figure in golden radiance, 
Cecile had seen beauty and gentle sweetness in the whole 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


261 


view spread out before her, — in the open square and the 
quaint old houses and the distant mountains and the river 
passing through the city like a silver thread, and more 
than all else, in her castle home with its environing green 
woodland. But Loys de Martelle saw only a rugged ill- 
built city, darkening rapidly with the long shadows cast 
by the swift-descending sun, tomblike streets and lanes 
the homes of filth and penury and disease, and an open 
square whose only purpose seemed to be for station of 
pillory and gallows ; and around all, the line of fortified 
wall with guarded gates, making of the whole scene a 
close darksome prison. To him the distant mountains 
were merely retreats which he might never reach, and the 
river a highway upon which he could not hope to escape. 

As he thus gazed, his sight grew dizzy ; and for the 
moment he clung closely to the parapet, in fear lest he 
might slip down and be dashed to pieces. The next in- 
stant, however, some inward prompting seemed to make 
itself heard, whispering strange temptations to him. Why, 
after all that had passed, should he wish to live longer ? 
Had life any further sweets for his enjoyment ? Let him, 
therefore, hurl himself over. One moment of courageous 
resolution, and he would be at rest forever ; or, if he were 
to awake in another world, even hell had no torments to 
exceed those which now he bore. Nay, — for so, after an 
instant, the promptings seemed to change and rather than 
pointing towards destruction to whisper ghostly sugges- 
tions of supernatural relief, — why should he die af all ? 


262 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


Why not, through power of his guardian genius, escape to 
laugh his pursuers to scorn ? With that, a lurid smile 
flickered over his face, and he placed his foot lightly upon 
the parapet. It might be that with returning reason he 
would have removed his foot again ; it might be that his 
disordering impulse, on the contrary, might have impelled 
him to complete the meditated destruction. But at that 
moment, a friendly grasp upon the arm restrained him 
and a familiar voice sounded in his ear. 

“Not so fast indeed, comrade,” said the Court Jester. 
“ If it is escape you are planning, I know not that I would 
be the one to hinder you, and doubtless you might And 
means to clamber down on point and projection outside. 
But once at the bottom, what benefit would the adventur- 
ing have done you?” And the Jester pointed below, 
where three or four men at arms were alertly watching 
even the sides and rear of the cathedral. “ While if it 
were, as I half suspect, to put an end to yourself — ” 

“ What then, you would say ? ” 

“ Why then, comrade, it must seem to any one an un- 
becoming way for a brave knight to die, — dashed to 
pieces like a dog instead of falling with trusty sword in 
hand.” 

Sir Loys passed his hand thrice before his face, medi- 
tatively, as though sweeping away some disordering fan- 
tasies. 

“You are right,” then he said. “ Yet do you know 
that which I thought of, only a moment ago ? It was not 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


263 


Upon escape that I was bent, nor yet destruction ; seeing 
that there seemed spirits in the air which beckoned me 
to throw myself over and they would support me lovingly 
in their arms in mid-air, and so fly off with me to place 
of safety.” 

“ That thing which you thought, — surely you can not 
have believed it, comrade ? ” 

“For the moment indeed; yet for not longer than a 
moment. Believing, yet not believing. For know, that 
within the last hour my brain has teemed as never yet 
brain has been possessed, perhaps, with ghostly figures 
and fanciful apparitions ; and though I have sought to 
reason calmly with myself, and have given no faith to 
their assumed reality, yet have they affrighted me all the 
same, and, if driven away, still thronged around me in 
full force and power as before.” 

“That is strange, indeed,” said the Jester. 

“Yet for all that, none the less true,” responded Toys, 
now finding nothing of offence in the familiar address of 
the other, but feeling himself thereby constrained to confi- 
dence rather than repulsion ; so pleasant had at last be- 
come the sound of a friendly human voice, after those 
many long hours during which he had listened to no words 
other than of scorn and anger. “If you could know, 
indeed, about the shapes that met me in the aisle below and 
not many minutes ago — shapes to provoke terror, and 
shapes to summon confidence, — shapes to be dreaded 
and shapes against which to wage fierce battle, — gentle 


264 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


spirits which lovingly and with seraphic smile seemed to 
beckon me towards them ; and hateful apparitions which, 
with angry frown and gesture threatened violence at my 
approach — shapes which stood apart from all others, silent, 
cold and motionless as the stone pillars around them ; 
and other shapes which circled hither and thither in dis- 
ordered whirl, gliding not only past, but through each 
others unsubstantial outlines, the form of one resolving 
itself into other's forms and again separating each into its 
own, — beings of the air so thin and unsubstantial even 
to fancy’s eye, that, gazing through their flimsy figures I 
could mark whatever of reality stood beyond, as through a 
faint vapor, and so looking, could almost laugh to myself 
as at a vain attempt to confuse and terrify me ; and yet 
again, other beings so lifelike in appearance that for the 
moment I stood uncertain and aghast, wondering whether 
these few might not be endowed with actual bodies 
against whose onset I must put myself upon de- 
fence — ” 

“Why, this is more than strange,” interrupted the 
Jester. “And among all these appearances so terrifying, 
was there none coming with any comfort for you ? 
Were they all unfriendly ? ” 

“ One there was, in the shape of a living person whom 
I have well thought of, in the past and whom — Look, 
when next you chance to descend, at the great picture 
over the high altar, if you would know what was her 
semblance. Though in different costume, now ; seeing 


UNDER THE BELLS. 265 

that, for more ready avoidance of any other’s notice, 
she wears a close gray cloak and hood — ” 

“ And whom, comrade, you met below ? And whether 
in or out of the body, you cannot tell ? ” 

“ Out of the body, to a surety. And yet, so like to her, 
that it seemed as though I could have touched her and 
found her similitude a living, breathing form.” 

‘‘ And might it not really have been herself, comrade ? 
For, as you know, the church is free for any one to come 
and go ; and she as well as any other — ” 

“ Nay, but behind her there came another of the same 
shape and nature seemingly, and enveloped like her in 
a gray hood and cloak, — and behind that, still a third 
one, — and so a score or two of exactly the same ap- 
pearance, all walking in long straight file and with 
heads bent downward. Of a certainty, there could not 
be so many Manons.” 

“ Of a certainty, indeed, it were more luck than ever 
happens to one man, that twenty beauteous damsels 
should come to him,” remarked the Jester. “And 
then ? ” 

“ For the instant I stood affrighted, and would fain 
have returned upon my steps : then took courage and 
pressed onward as before, and so the mocking shapes all 
fled and vanished from before me.” 

“ And how—” 

“ Strange and weird-like, even in their departure. Some 
retreated to one side and disappeared, I know not how. 


266 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


Some not moving, yet fading away from before me, just 
as they stood. Others seeming to resolve themselves into 
the colored rays that with actual defined shape stole in 
through the windows. One dark shape there was, that 
beat and fluttered bat-like against the stained panes ; and 
after a moment, came out at the further side as though it 
had' melted through the glass. Other brighter spirits 
circled once or twice in riotous dance before me ; and 
then with sudden whirl, swept out at an open window 
like torrent of dry leaves. So like the eddying of leaves 
was it, indeed, that for the instant I strove to follow their 
outer flight and resolve for myself their actual nature. 
But already they had disappeared from view, seeming to 
melt away into the clear air beyond.” 

“Well, be their vanishing as it might, comrade, you 
did right to resist them. It is the true method to fight 
against such fancies ; seeing that then they will always 
scatter and disappear. — But tell me now,” and he gazed 
inquiringly at the wan, troubled and fever-enkindled face 
of the other. “ Such strange and ghostly shapes do not 
always beset us for nothing, and my mind misgives me 
that I know full well the cause of it. When last have 
you eaten or drunk ? ” 

For a moment the Knight was obliged to pause and 
reflect, so disordered was the current of his memory. 

It was two days ago, or thereabout,” he then said. 
“Of a certainty, not since I have been pent up here.’ 

With that the Jester smote himself roughly upon the 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


267 


knee in token of strong emotion suddenly evoked, and 
burst forth into a loud oath ; and again he took the 
Knight by the arm, — this time with purpose to lead him 
away. 

“ Gome now with me, good comrade,” he exclaimed. 
“ Whatever of wrong you may or may not have done 
within these past few days, it is worse than falling from 
a church’s roof upon the stones below, and doubly worse 
than avenging thrust of thirsty sword, that a brave knight 
should here be starved to death like a rat built into a 
wall. And whatever of evil the Courtrai clan may purpose 
against you, it is not for me, though the Duke’s retainer, — 
being for all that merely a simple Fool and wearing not 
arms, — to help them forward in the matter. Come, there- 
fore with me, and let me lead you to such relief as I can 
here afford.” 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

G ently guiding the Knight, he led him slowly and 
carefully down the steps again, steadying his feet 
wherever the way was dark and winding, until they had 
advanced half way back to the interior of the church. 
At this point there was a small side opening in the wall 
of the stairway ; passing through which, they stood within 
the belfry. There hung the nine bells of varying size, 
comprising the Cathedral chime. Along the walls of the 
belfry ran a plain board seat, and in one corner of this 
stood a black loaf and a bottle of sour wine. These 
were the spoils that the Jester had gathered from the 
grave diggers the night before ; and having as yet the 
satisfaction of a properly filled stomach, he had carefully 
laid them one side in this concealment, for future use. 

“Take this, — and also this,” he now said, extending 
the black loaf towards the Knight, and preparing to pour 
out for him a cupful of the sour wine. 

The eyes of Loys de Martelle for a moment sparkled 
joyously at the sight of such offered treasure ; never be- 
fore had food seemed so welcome to him. Then, as he 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


269 


essayed to partake of it, the light of anticipation almost 
instantly faded away into apathetic dulness. For as it 
happened, the appetite with which he might have solaced 
himself a few hours before had left him, and he could 
now do no more than crumble a morsel and take a single 
sip. That done, he lowered his hand and let the rest fall 
from him. 

“Is it not good?” said the Jester, somewhat disap- 
pointed. “ Nay, I know that it is not knightly food, and 
that you have been used to better, as of course. Yet 
assuredly it is the best I have. Could I present to 
you other and more palatable food, I would gladly do 
so. As it is, I thought it might be, that, in your cir- 
cumstance of sore hunger and thirst ” 

“It is not that, — indeed it is not that,” the Knight re- 
sponded. “ Believe me not so ungrateful. Better food 
has not always been my portion. Often has it happened 
that while in camp I have shared with my vassals far 
poorer fare and with abundant relish. But now, — alas ! 
I cannot,— much as I really would. Truly, my body has 
become a prey to strange inconsistencies. And as for my 
mind — See ! ” he continued, pointing in front of him. 
“ They come again — those strange shapes ! Am I never 
to be free from the terror of them ? Look you now ! ” 

“ Is it the little one in the gray hood and cloak again, 
comrade ? ” 

“ Not so, — but other shapes. They are all unreal and 
unsubstantial, — so much I do surely know, and that it is 


2’JO 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


my own mind which is at fault ; and yet they affright me 
more than if they were actual flesh and blood. Being 
the latter, I might contend with them ; perchance might 
vanquish them so that they would never return. But 
these — I see the figures of armed knights with their 
swords already drawn, and they all point and glance at 
me ! And there are priests in altar vestments, — priests 
like the one whom yesterday I crushed down upon his 
knees ; but who, with more assured courage than he dis- 
played, now point menacingly at me, as though they 
were charged with all the thunders of the Church ! These 
all wind in and out among the bells and press towards 
me, and frighten me none the less that I know they are 
not real.” 

“ Why then. Comrade, let us do as you did before, — 
advance boldly upon them and thereby put them to igno- 
minious flight. Trust me, — be it ghost or demon or mere 
fancy of the brain, — whatever shapely torment it may 
be, — if he plays the coward once in front of open attack 
he will surely do the same thing again. Come, — go with 
me. Together we should be enough to win a victory 
over them.” 

Carefully taking the black bread and the cup of sour 
wine out of the Knight’s lowered hand, — for of the two, 
the Jester had the wit to be prudent, not knowing how 
soon the food that could not now be used might become 
more palatable, — he grasped the Knight by the arm and 
urged him on, himself walking at his side. Doing so, he 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


27T 

drew forth his own sword of silvered lath, and waved it 
in front as though making bold attack with weapon of 
real offence ; amusing himself with passes of carte and 
tierce at the foe, which only the other could see. Thus 
with locked arms the two men slowly circled the bells and 
returned to their first position. 

“Have they gone ?” the Jester asked. “Has merely 
a gleam of my redoubtable weapon put them to hurried 
flight ? In my wrathful passes at them, have I chanced 
to strike any one of them and let out his ghostly blood ? “ 
“ They have gone,” answered the Knight. “ Nor did 
they wait to be smitten, — if smitten, indeed, they can be ; 
but retired before us at more than arm’s length. Strange, 
too, how they departed. Not vanishing or passing out at 
the door through which we entered, but rising in eddying 
mass, even as the dust is lifted from the ground ; and so, 
in long extended train, flying up into the mouth of the 
largest bell.” 

“So let it be,” responded the Jester encouragingly. 
“ There let them remain until at the next Angelus the 
great bell swings round too suddenly for their escape 
and pounds them to atoms. Perchance among them may 
be the Great Enemy himself, thus destined to be caught 
and extinguished forever in the toils of the Holy Church,” 
he continued in vein of grim humor. “ If so, should not 
I be canonized, who with my wooden sword have driven 
him thither and relieved the world of his temptings ? ” 

“ Nay, but what if he return from thence to trouble us 


272 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


before the next Angelus ? ” said the Knight, too disordered 
of thought to notice that the Jester had spoken in any- 
thing but serious speculation. “ What if they all return ? 
Already I seem to see one of them, — not Satan himself 
nor yet one of the priests, but one of the armed knights, 
— black bearded and in full panoply of mail, and with a 
white plume in his helmet. He is looking out at me, 
watchfully, from beneath the rim of the bell, — with more 
apparent wrathfulness and fierceness of expression than 
ever man could have had before, as now I see him scowl- 
ing at me with face reversed. Nay, — no longer does he 
seem to regard the flourishing of your weapon, for still 
he holds his place, nor mitigates at all the rigor of his 
gaze. See ! now he puts forth first an arm and then a 
leg and begins to descend. He is coming again to invite 
attack, and the others will surely follow.” 

“ Say you so?” returned the Jester, rising from his 
seat with the conviction that it was hopeless to allay his 
companion’s disorder by any effort of reason, and that 
the only proper resort lay in retirement from the scene. 
“ Is it true that my trusty weapon, after so many years of 
usefulness has become at last of none effect ? Then let 
us leave these disturbing fiends to each others company. 
So can they come out or go in again undisturbed, and 
each at its own pleasure ; and perchance, for lack of our- 
selves to torment, they may quarrel among themselves, so 
as in the end to sulk apart in separate bells. Let us 
away.” 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


273 


Tenderly he led the Knight out, — gently and with con- 
siderate oversight as he had brought him in ; and so they 
slowly descended the remainder of the stone steps and 
stood again upon the floor of the nave. Already, — so 
long had they lingered upon the roof and in the belfry, — 
the afternoon was declining into dusk, and the early 
shadows began to gather in the narrowest nooks of the 
arches and to deepen into utter blackness around the 
heavy mouldings. It was about the hour when commonly 
few persons were to be found within the whole compass 
of the Cathedral ; and so, but for especial occasion, would 
it now have been. But all at once the great bronze doors 
were thrown open to their full extent ; and there came a 
crowd of men and women hurrying through in disorderly 
array, defying any attempts of the vergers to check their 
impetuous efforts towards securing favorable positions 
within the church. Then, far louder than the noise and 
exclamations of that struggling throng, was heard the 
solemn chanting of many priests and choristers. Now it 
rose high upon the air in prolonged strains, — now it sank 
into a low subdued melody, — a hushed tone of wailing. 
Nearer and nearer it came ; and then was heard, far differ- 
ent from the hurried tramp of those who had already 
entered, the measured shuffle of a slow moving proces- 
sion. As the sounds increased with their nearer approach. 
Toys de Matelle lifted his eyes, confusedly parted his 
tangled hair from his haggard brow and sought to listen. 
There was the flicker of a smile upon his face, as though 


274 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


the soft sttains pleased him ; and again he slightly frowned 
and muttered incoherently to himself in attempt to col- 
lect his thoughts. And suddenly starting into animation, 
he pointed wildly forward. 

‘‘ Look ! ” he cried, “ they come once more, — those 
priests and warriors whom we have already put to flight ! 
How issued they from the belfry again and from this 
quarter to disturb us ? And see ! — in the front of all is 
the black bearded knight with the white plume ! Let us 
go forward and once more put them to rout. It is the 
only way, — have you not already said the same ? ” 

“For ghostly apparitions, — yes; but not for these,” 
hurriedly responded the Jester, seizing the other vigor- 
ously by the arm and restraining him from the purposed 
forward action. “ Not for these, indeed ! Do you not 
see that these are real, — that the white plumed Knight is 
the castellan De Courtrai ? On your life, remain and 
follow me ! ” 

In dire distress for his companion’s safety, the Jester 
by main force turned him about, and still grasping him by 
the arms, dragged him towards the other end of the cathe- 
dral. So far, they had chanced to remain unheard and 
unrecognized. The crowd that had already entered were 
too busily engaged in finding places for themselves to re- 
gard each other, and would not readily take note of other 
groups hurrying beside them in the same direction. 
Coming to the further end, the Jester gazed around in 
search of some haven of refuge for the Knight. There 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


275 


seemed but one place where he could hide him completely 
from all view. It was a confessional which stood at the 
angle of a transept. At the moment, the Jester did not 
perceive that it stood exactly in front of the newly 
opened grave ; there was no time for such close observa- 
tion of the place as that. With one hand he thrust the 
yielding Knight into the confessional, with the other drew 
the light curtain close across ; then with parting injunc- 
tion that he should not speak or move, stood at one side 
and left the rest to fate. 

And now, as the swelling chant at last arose within the 
walls and the muffled grating of the footsteps of the slow 
moving procession was heard upon the marble pavement, 
the incoherent phantasies that had beset the mind of Loys 
de Martelle partially passed away, his perception of time 
and place returned, and he began to realize that those 
knights and priests were real and that the funeral rites of 
his victim were to be performed before him. In misery 
and despair he stood within the confessional ; and peep- 
ing through the curtain hurriedly surveyed his situation. 
Could he now take flight ? Alas ! it was too late for 
that. Already a crowd had gathered about the grave in 
front of him, shutting out all retreat. There was nothing 
to be done, indeed, but to shrink into the furtherest 
corner of his chance refuge, and in that silence and 
obscurity, await the end. But, as though he were des- 
tined always to be the prey and sport of circumstance, 
now that he could not escape he found it impossible not 


276 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


to survey the whole scene ; and when he would have 
looked away, some inward fiend, delighting to play upon 
the remaining phantasies of his disordered brain, ever 
forced him to peep forth at the side of the little curtain 
and witness the funeral pageant. 

There were choristers in long white scarfs. There were 
acolytes bearing candles which at first feebly flickering, 
momentarily gained new brightness in comparison with 
the fast fading light of day. There were priests in their 
richest vestments and bearing crosses and incense. There 
were bearers selected from noble families, carrying the 
open bier. There were relatives of the House of De 
Courtrai bowed down with grief. There were richly 
dressed retainers of the Grand Duke of Mantua, mani- 
festing sympathy with their presence. There were servi- 
teurs and attendants flaunting in mourning badges. There 
were assistants carrying the arms and armorial bearings 
of the deceased. All these Toys de Martelle now saw, 
as the procession slowly advanced up the nave and at last 
gathered in compact mass in front of him. Again and 
again he attempted to withdraw his eyes from the curtain 
chink and retire into the partial obscurity of the rear of 
the confessional ; and again and again the tormenting 
fiend within commanded him to remain and witness 
to the very end the rites of sepulchre. 

Now the death chant sending its last mournful notes 
through the arches of the cathedral sank into silence. 
The bearers deposited the bier at the edge of the grave, — 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


277 


the priests gathered closely around, — the relatives of the 
House stood near, gazing upon the face of the dead, — 
the spectators driven back by the vergers sought places 
upon projecting cornices or clung around the bases of the 
great pillars in their attempt to gain full view of all that 
might transpire ; and amid the ringing of bells and the 
wafting of sweet incense the priests began the service. 

And all the while, actuated by the same strange fasci- 
nation, Loys de Martelle remained with his eye closely 
fastened to the curtain chink. To be obliged to do this 
and gaze down upon the face of that much loved friend 
slain by himself was agony enough, and yet there was 
more to come. The inward fiend continued to the last 
to play his unruly tricks with the Knight’s disordered 
imagination ; and, as the rites progressed, a morbid un- 
governable fancy seized upon the watcher’s soul. It was 
in fact, a desire to look closer upon the dead and note for 
himself how he appeared. So pure and sweet as Arnulf 
seemed at that little distance, so life-like upon his bier 
that but for the attendant circumstances one might have 
supposed he was asleep upon his couch, — nearer by, would 
he not appear yet more pure and sweet, and perchance 
with some angelic spirit of the forgiveness in which he 
had died still impressed upon his face for the constant 
consolation of the innocent slayer ? More than all that ; 
might it not be that to look more closely upon the dead 
would redound to the slayer’s good ? Thinking upon 
these possibilities, Loys de Martelle recalled a super- 


278 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


stition of the day, yet to the day itself no mere super- 
stition but a conceded fact. It was said that at the ap- 
proach of a murderer, the murdered man’s wounds would 
bleed afresh ; but how about the reverse of this ? What 
if the alleged murderer were guiltless in intent ; would not 
the victim of a mere mistake endeavor, by some super- 
natural manifestation, to absolve and acquit him ? At 
his approach to say farewell, might not the dead face of 
Arnulf relax from its rigidity and smile upon him, — per- 
chance the arms be raised towards him in loving amity ? 
And seeing this, might not the bystanders appreciate the 
motive of the incident and add the seal of their forgive- 
ness ? In vain, with feeble remnant of better judgment, 
Loys de Martelle strove for a while to resist the urgings 
of this fancy, — in vain he closed his eyes and knit his 
fingers in his hair in effort to banish the insane idea. 
The chuckling fiend within would have its way ; and at 
last, in obedience to that prompting, Loys emerged from 
the confessional like some unquiet ghost and slowly 
tottered towards the body. 

He falteringly advanced for a moment unmolested. 
The mourners and all those who took part in the cere- 
monial were either turned with their backs in that direc- 
tion or held their eyes fixed upon the bier and did not at 
once recognize the intruder. The few who did observe 
him were of the mere chance attendants, of whom some 
knew him not and others parted in silence before him, 
shunning his touch as though he bore contagion. Thus 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


279 


unmolested, Loys advanced towards the bier ; and just as 
the castellan De Courtrai bent over the body to take his 
last look, the slayer, still moved by the same irresistible 
impulse, leaned over the castellan’s shoulder. 

For a moment only. Ere he had time to scan a single 
feature of the pale corse, he was discovered. A shriek 
of woman rang wildly through the transept. There were 
loud oaths of men. There was a sudden impetuous draw- 
ing of swords and daggers. A moment more, and the 
intruder would have been slain where he chanced to 
stand, without regard to the rights of sanctuary. The 
castellan De Courtrai already had his sword gleaming in 
the air, when one of the priests threw himself hurriedly 
between. 

‘‘ Forbear ! In the Church’s name ! ” cried the Priest. 

I will have vengeance ! ” was the hoarse reply ; and a 
murmur of approbation arose from all around. But the 
Priest was inflexible. He still stood in the way ; and be- 
fore the avenger could act his purposed will, some few of 
those who were anxious to prevent the threatened profa- 
nation interfered. With no gentle hand they hurled the 
intruder away, and hurried him quickly to the outskirts 
of the assembled crowd. There, with muttered caution 
that he should not again offend, they left him to himself. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

T here was no longer any chance, indeed, that Toys 
de Martelle would again intrude his presence upon 
the funeral rites. Now that he was left apart from all 
fellow men, the attendant fiend that had so cruelly urged 
him to rash action also departed, abandoning him thence- 
forth to his own devices. Why linger longer to torment 
the victim, who, obeying so readily those behests of in- 
ward prompting, had so fully accomplished the demoniac 
purpose ? Therefore Loys, with body still more en- 
feebled yet with mind restored to something of its natu- 
ral collectedness of thought, no longer made effort to 
mingle among other men, but quietly and with something 
of the instinct of a hunted animal, wandered off again 
to his secluded corner by the clustered pillars. 

Soon, — very soon, indeed, — all was quiet once more. 
The priests had stilled the tumult, the burial been com- 
pleted and the mourners dispersed. Of that great crowd 
of spectators, the largest portion had followed the pro- 
cession as it took up its homeward route, while others 
returned to their interrupted occupations. A few, — these 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


281 

mostly from among the women, — remained for a while 
longer, taking this opportunity to offer up their vesper 
prayers ; but hurrying withal, and not tarrying longer 
than could be helped, lest they should be overtaken by 
the fast gathering darkness. Some few others there were 
of the spectators who lingered behind and strolled in de- 
sultory manner around the cathedral, moved with curious 
intent to gain further observation of the hunted man ; 
but not at the instant detecting him in his seclusion, they 
soon gave up the search and followed the footsteps of 
those who had already departed. Then came the men 
who the night before had dug the grave ; and they, now 
rapidly putting back the earth, replaced the pavement 
stones over all. In a few moments these men also went 
away ; and at last Loys de Martelle seemed left again 
alone. 

In quietness he remained for a while longer, utterly 
wearied now of life, and at last made hopeless of escape. 
If there had ever been any friends of his in all the wide 
world, — and at times he had believed that there were 
many such, — they had all proved unfaithful, inasmuch as 
in this dire extremity they had not ventured to come for- 
ward in his behalf. Even at the best, it was more than 
likely that their most strenuous efforts would prove of 
little avail against the more powerful influences arrayed 
for his destruction. Too mighty to be at present with- 
stood were the interested slanders against his fair fame ; 
and the very attempt he had so lately made to clear him- 


282 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


self of obloquy and perchance to gain from his enemies 
some small meed of tenderness and compassion, had re- 
coiled with force upon himself. True indeed, that at his 
approach the fair face of the dead Page had not flushed with 
hate, nor the stilled blood oozed forth as at the presence 
of hitherto undetected murderer, and in so far the olden 
superstition had not answered its expected test. Yet, on 
the other hand, neither had the cold lips parted for him, 
the unwitting slayer, into loving and forgiving smile, nor 
had the eyes unclosed with affection’s welcome. All had 
remained lifeless, unaltered and in repose ; except that the 
angry passions of a gathered horde had surged wildly in 
tempestuous tide and in terrible malediction at an ap- 
proach which, though intended half in broken hearted sup- 
plication, had been interpreted as insulting aggravation of 
bitter wrong. All hope of rescue or release was now lost, 
indeed ; and oppressed with that terrible realization, the 
captive at last arose and in distracted want of purpose, 
began to pace the pavement. Once in the circuit of the 
cathedral aisles, he approached the transept and chanced 
to stand again near where the slain Page lay buried. The 
earth had all been shovelled back, the pavement stones 
been carefully replaced and the surface swept. From any 
matter of external sign, none could know that sepulchral 
rites had so recently been there enacted. Had it in fact 
been so, — or was it all a dream ? Passing his hands across 
his brow and inwardly struggling for calm reflection, Loys 
felt at last a return of recollection ; and now, hurrying 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


283 


away from that ill omened place, he wandered off to 
where the choir floor began .to rise above the nave, and 
there sank upon the lower step. 

And now, as one reviews an account that is nearly 
finished and must soon be closed and laid away forever, 
he sat and thought upon his past life, which as at some 
inward dictation, rolled itself out before him like a 
painted screen. It had been, in the main, a pleasant 
and honorable life. Excepting for the troubles of the 
last few days, there had never been suspicion of stain 
upon it ; and even at this last, it might be that when 
he was in his grave, the burst of popular fury would be- 
come subdued, and with better and more kindly thought 
of him, the tide of misconstruction would be left to 
ebb, and so his fair fame thereafter bear no adverse 
record other than of fate-compelling misfortune. He 
had been a prisoner once, but that was the mere fortune 
of war ; in return for which, fate had thrice delivered 
brave knights into his hands, and they had been obliged 
to purchase their freedom with heavy ransom, while for 
these evidences of his valor, more than once the King had 
spoken commendingly about him. Tracing his life still 
further back upon the unrolling screen, he saw once 
more the fair picture of his happy career as royal 
Page, — basking throughout his youth in kingly favor, 
and in what then he most valued, beauty’s smiles. 
There was no blot or blemish even upon that portion 
of his recollections. Still further back again, to where 


284 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


he was so young in years that valor’s field or beauty’s 
captivations could not well seek him out, — so far back, 
indeed, that it seemed as though there could be no 
especial memories evoked relating to a life as yet so 
uneventful and purposeless. But yet, as fate or chance 
would will it, now singularly enough there came one 
recollection wonderfully distinct amid so many surround- 
ings that were obscure. It related to the burial rites of 
some old gray bearded warrior of the Martelle family ; 
wherein Loys, falling behind unnoticed after all others 
of his line had departed, had wandered heedlessly around 
the church, and finally had seated himself just where 
he now sat, and musingly watched the gathering of the 
evening shadows. In the completeness of that recollect- 
ion, he remembered how he had gazed upon one round 
spot of bright moonlight that stole in through a transept 
window and fell upon the pavement at his feet, and how 
he had watched its slow passage along the smooth marble, 
and had wondered why that portion only should be so 
favored with brightness when all else was steeped in gloom. 
And lo ! even now there was the same bright circle of 
silver moonlight stealing softly along before him. The 
world meanwhile had had its wars and tumults and its 
diversities of custom and fashion ; but the moon had re- 
mained unchanged and the cathedral to all appearance 
was no older, and here again the heavenly light and the 
pierced stone work combined to spread out the same 
simple mysteries at his feet. Indeed, he might altogether 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


285 


have now forgotten all lapse of years and felt himself once 
more a boy, while watching the sliding by of the slow 
moving moonlight ; but for the dull sense of inward misery 
not to be driven off by any .temporary distraction of the 
mind, and for the sharper but for all that, the more 
easily endured anguish of his open wound. , 

For now again the wound began to trouble him, in- 
flicting racking pain. Once more the bandage had be- 
come disarranged, and thereby having dragged the flesh 
apart, the open sword-cut clotted with blood began to 
fester. He could not now in the fast failing light, close 
again the wound or bind the covering around it with 
even ordinary skill ; for as speedily as one fold was 
properly disposed, another slipped aside. Impatiently 
at last he flung the silken sash away ; but as the cold 
currents of air circled around and touched the lacer- 
ated flesh, each moment the intensity of the sharp 
shooting pain increased and he was compelled once more 
to lift the bandage and renew his baffling task. And 
while so doing, suddenly a gentle voice close at his right 
hand addressed him. 

“ Loys de Martelle,” the soft voice said, “ let me do 
that poor service for you.” 

Raising his eyes, he beheld beside him a woman^s 
figure, — a ^slight built, fragile form in gray hood and 
cloak,— bending in sympathy towards him. So much in 
the gathering darkness he could readily distinguish, and 
it was enough to make his despairing heart bound as with 


286 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


the impulse of a sudden great joy. Or might not 
this be a new delusion of his senses, — another mere un- 
substantial apparition, indeed, — the latest cruel aggra- 
vation of the mocking fiend within him ? But as in this 
terrible uncertainty of mind he gazed doubtingly, another 
slender ray of the silver moonlight, stealing through the 
chancel window with feeble gleam shone askant upon 
her ; and as Loys now looked inquiringly into the dark 
liquid eyes and dwelt upon the parted lips and recalled 
even in the few words she had spoken the old familiar 
tones of that dearly treasured voice, he faintly whispered : 

“ Is it you at last, Manon ? ” 

“ It is Manon herself,” a third voice exclaimed ; and 
glancing up towards whence the words proceeded, he 
beheld Pere Rouflet standing behind upon the step above 
and looking down upon them both. “ It is indeed 
Manon, Sir Knight. I have myself brought her to this 
place ; to the intent, in part, that by one kind act I may 
hope to gain her forgiveness and your own.” 

“ It is well,” Loys answered. And for a moment this 
was all that he could think to say. How, indeed, could 
he bring himself to pour forth even cold forgiveness for 
the mistaken conduct that had brought him into his 
present cruel strait or to lavish grateful thanks upon 
Pere Rouflet for a charity so tardily bestowed ? 

“ What I have hitherto done. Sir Knight,” Pere Rouflet 
continued, lingering a moment before he spoke, as if to 
give time for the other to utter even some semblance of 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


287 


the hoped for words of pardon, “ what I have done was 
not through despiteful malice or in cruel hindrance of 
your heart’s longing. It was in mistaken zeal, perhaps ; 
yet performed in all the purity of good intent. I could 
not willingly permit that Manon should be turned aside 
by needless revival of her buried love for you, from her 
fairer and more righteous destiny of peace and penitence 
awaiting her ; or that you yourself should be sundered 
from those ties of state and habitude that most properly 
appertain to you.” 

It must be well, — since you deem it so,” the Knight 
responded, more coldly than before. 

“ Therefore have I brought her hither with me,” Pere 
Rouflet said, “ though all the while with sore misgiving 
and torturing doubt of the needfulness of the act, and 
surely with no intent that you should use the few mo- 
ments you may now pass together, in idle words of love 
or dalliance, or for any purpose other than farewell before 
you separate upon your several ways forever. Do you 
not understand that it must be so ? ” 

“ What other intent than that can I now venture to 
admit ?” Toys mournfully replied ; for, as he gazed upon 
Manon’s half shrouded face, it seemed as if something 
had removed her as far apart from him as though she 
had visited him from another world, and that now there 
could be no other sentiment in her behalf than one of 
heartfelt reverence and reserve. Not alone by reason of 
the influence of that quiet meek costume, so closely akin 


288 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


to that which so soon she purposed to assume, but be- 
cause in her whole impress there was that which some- 
how spoke of a deep and ever widening gulf between 
them. The dark lustre of the eyes and the gentle, sweet 
smile were still there ; but now they seemed to glow for 
him no longer. There was nothing unkind or forbidding 
in her expression ; yet upon every feature an ineffable 
repose appeared to rest, speaking abandonment of the 
past and of all its joys, and betokening a present calm 
that no longer took note of earthly affections, but looked 
forward only to the peace of Heaven. Was this repose 
the consequence of studied constraint ? Or had it, 
through long exercise, become a portion of her very 
being ? He could not tell, — he would no longer even 
give himself the right to ask. Sufficient for him to feel 
that whether by chance or effort, she was now removed 
far from all tenderness for him and devoted to more 
lasting duty. 

“Let me do that poor service for you,” she said, plac- 
ing her hand gently upon his wounded arm. “ Surely 
there can be no harm in ministering even to yourself. Sir 
Loys, in matter which so intimately concerns the bodily 
relief from pain.” 

Not answering otherwise than with grateful and acqui- 
escent gaze, — for now it seemed as though he were speech- 
less, nor indeed could even hope to frame into any con- 
nected utterance the troubled thoughts that so abundantly 
bewildered him, — Loys de Martelle inclined his wounded 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


289 


arm towards her ; and, for a moment, he silently watched 
the gentle motion of her hand, as, with practiced touch, 
she endeavored properly to replace the tangled scarf, lay- 
ing each fold carefully upon the other with ready skill, and 
touching him all the while so lightly that not another 
twinge of pain now came to agonize him. So for a mo- 
ment she wrought, and with apparent success. Yet 
towards the end and with the proper result all but assured, 
whether it was that by reason of some inward agitation 
her accustomed skill forsook her or that the substance 
with which she dealt was in the nature of its texture too 
unruly and ill adapted to its present purpose, the folds 
already disposed relaxed their hold ; and one by one un- 
winding, left the long silken sash to fall again in dis- 
order upon the pavement at her feet. 

For a moment, Manon remained in motionless per- 
plexity. Then recognizing the need of some different 
and more pliable material, she bent back her gray hood, 
letting it fall behind, and with ready motion unfastened 
the soft white band that bound her forehead. Folding 
this anew to suit the different purpose for which she des- 
tined it, she passed it lightly and smoothly around Toys’ 
arm, successfully fitting fold over fold, so that every line 
and thread at last lay properly in place. This done, she 
drew her hand away from the completed task and silently 
rested. 

And now Toys, who until that moment had scarcely 
paid attention to other than the skillful motion of her 


290 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


nimble fingers, looked up into her face to thank her. At 
the first glance he was startled into sudden wonderment 
at the strange transformation that met his sight. Within 
the past few moments, the little circle of bright moon- 
light that at the first had lain across the marble pave- 
ment, little by little had crept up over the folds of her 
gray dress ; and so mounting, now spread its radiance upon 
her countenance, bringing out into plain relief each line 
of feature and shade of sweet expression, with such per- 
fect distinctness as the faint thin ray that had before 
gleamed lightly upon her could never have given, — 
resting upon her in bounteous effulgence like a celestial 
nimbus. A minute before, even that bright glow might 
not have aided greatly in better revelation of her ; but 
now it happened that her own unpremeditated action had 
completed an unlooked-for transformation. For the gray 
disguising hood being now thrown back in collapsed folds, 
allowed the full shape of the head once more to be ex- 
posed, while the removal of the white band left her dark 
locks to float again in temporary freedom. Whatever 
their destiny in the convent, as yet they had not been 
severed, but had been merely bound closely out of sight. 
Upon the removal of their covering, they fell once more 
in full rich tresses about her forehead and cheeks. With 
their reappearance, the quaint quiescent repose and re- 
straint of her new life seemed to have passed away, — the 
bright eye to have become brighter and instinct with some 
remaining expression of lingering affinity with the world, 


- UNDER THE BELLS. 


291 


the lips to whisper some still existing power to love, — 
the former Manon, indeed, to have returned and to beam 
upon Loys with something of her past impulsive readi- 
ness to acknowledge ties of earthly affection. Could 
it indeed be true that now divested of those sober dis- 
guisings of apparel she was still at heart the same, and 
that in believing her to be changed he had done injustice 
to her ? Or had she really given up her heart to newer 
and more chastened influences ; and now, by reason of 
this chance re-assumption of long disused attractions 
had become restored to her other self only in his imagin- 
ings ? He could not tell. So often of late had his breast 
been the prey of contradictory emotions through the in- 
fluence of mere outward appliances disguising the true 
disposition for right or wrong, that now he dared not even 
deliberate upon the possibilities of her present nature. 
He could only gaze wonderingly upon her, and for the 
instant, held his peace. 

Yet not for long. The few fleeting moments that might 
be left to them were very precious, and should not 
be wasted in idle revery or speculation. Pleasant indeed 
in any other place or circumstances to sit beside her as in 
the buried past and trifle wantonly with the thick clusters 
of dark wavy hair that flooded her cheeks ; and sportively 
to struggle for furtive glances into her bright eyes, now no 
longer gleaming with responsive love but bowed in seem- 
ing abstracted contemplation of her small thin hands 
crossed idly upon her lap outside the gray cloak. But he 


292 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


knew that she had been brought thither simply that they 
might say farewell before she entered upon her destined 
vocation, and he upon whatever path the mystery of fate 
might allot to him. Whether, therefore, she might still re 
tain in her changed life any poor relic of the olden power 
or disposition for earthly love, could matter little to him 
any longer. It must now be an occasion only for sad final 
parting, — whether in words of ardent love or of simple 
friendship, the cruel parting must take place all the same. 

“ I have so wronged you, Manon,” therefore he began, 
breaking at last the silence, “in that I believed you 
could have been wilfully false to me ! It might be that 
when you left me you loved me no longer, — such things 
will ever and anon happen in hearts that struggle most 
earnestly to remain true. But surely now I know it was 
not for love of any other, that you parted from me.” 

“And I, Loys,” she responded, for the first time using 
the old familiar name and in the accustomed tone ; “ I 
have perhaps still more cruelly and deeply wronged you, 
in that I abandoned you with such sudden impulse and 
without due explanation. I think that it must have been, 
— indeed I do not know how else it could have been, — 
because I dared not see you even once again or for one 
fleeting moment, lest I might be shaken from my resolve. 
You know now, Loys, why it was needful that it should 
happen ; do you not ? I feared so greatly for my soul’s 
welfare, — that was the one controlling thought that held 
me. And then again, — then I feared, perhaps with 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


293 


almost as great a trouble, for the peace of her unto whom 
you were betrothed ; and I felt that I should not hesitate 
to sacrifice myself for that purposed happiness of you 
both.” 

“ And yet, Manon, it might well have been that you 
should have given me the right to choose between you,” 
he responded bitterly. “ Exercising such a right, might I 
not have preferred at the last to remain rather with you, 
whom I so deeply loved, than with one whose most 
ardently professed affection, when put to the trial, scarcely 
bore equal fruit of charity with mere common friendship ?” 

“ Nay, Loys, that choice never indeed could have been 
so made. Your rank, your knightly station, — all must 
surely have prevented such self-sacrifice as that, whatever 
your secret thought. And then, too, why should I not 
believe that being betrothed to her, you must love her 
well and even better than you loved me ? And what, 
therefore, could my jealous heart do otherv^ise than urge 
me to flee from my inevitable fate and struggle for for- 
getfulness which alone could bring me peace ? And then, 
once more, — and it all had its influence upon my fixed 
resolve, — I thought that she must dearly love you in 
return, and that it must not be for me to bring misery 
upon her.” 

“You thought, you tell me? And did she not really 
love me, Manon, even at that first ? ” 

As he spoke, there came a wild ungovernable hope in 
his heart, — a hope that Manon might have known some 


294 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


circumstance of the past, in proof of the falsity of Cecile’s 
professed affection, which circumstance now disclosed to 
him might justify him in his late desertion and indiffer- 
ence. Even now, could he learn this, it would be some- 
thing towards the needed repose of his conscience. 

‘‘ Ah, Loys, so indeed I thought ; not knowing her at 
all, but not understanding how, with your glance of appro- 
bation upon her, she could help loving you. So do I no 
longer think ; and yet it is not from knowing her any 
better than before. Seeing her, indeed, only twice or 
thrice, and then with fugitive opportunity ; and yet — ” 

“ And yet, Manon ? ” 

‘‘ Alas ! I know not how it was ; but though I saw ex- 
ceeding beauty in her face, there seemed not in her blue 
eyes to lurk such depth of passion as I should have sup- 
posed most worthy to bestow upon yourself. And when 
this morning, I learned that too readily she had allowed 
resentment at some hasty speech of yours — ” 

“Nay, Manon, let me therein at least approve her 
wrath, seeing that I was myself too greatly in fault against 
her to be forgiven easily.” 

“What then, Loys? For one hasty, inconsiderate 
speech must true love be slain outright ? Have you not 
in past times been careless of word, even to myself ? And 
did I ever, for that, send you from my presence ? Ah, 
Loys, loved knight of mine, as truly you were ! How 
much more bitter neglect than you could ever have given 
to her would I have borne uncomplainingly from you. 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


295 


and yet have constantly returned again, with hope of new 
caresses to blot out the memory of such chance unkind- 
ness ! Nay, think not that Cecile ever loved you with 
half the affection of my heart.” 

In sudden bewilderment of thought, Loys sat beside 
her and gazed upon the animating play of her expression, 
now again, though she was not aware of it, so eloquent 
with avowal of returning love, and listened to the story 
of her doubt of the fair Cecile. Strange that while he, 
with some slight remaining sense of past duty should feel 
compelled to urge defence of his betrothed, it was in 
Manon’s heart so cruelly to distrust and upbraid her ! 
Strange, indeed, that Manon, in every impulse and pur- 
pose of her soul always so kind and charitable, and in all 
manner filled with the attributes of loving sweetness, 
should now be so unjust ! As Loys gazed down upon 
her, he saw how much brighter grew her eye and how 
much more radiant her expression with the animating 
picturing of her more enduring love ! How like a glori- 
fied recollection of happier days the sweet manifold 
beauty of the olden affection illumined at this last hour 
her whole transfigured face ! How utterly it seemed 
to banish thence every impress of her late severely 
feigned assumption of coldness and reserve ! To speak 
thus critically about Cecile, — was it not full proof of jeal- 
ous feeling ? And is not all jealousy the fruit and sym- 
bol of true love ? At that one instant of perception of the 
truth, his eyes seemed opened as by flash of inspiration. 


296 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


“ Your heart was once made jealous of her, sweet 
Manon ? ” he cried ; not knowing that he spoke above 
the tone of their late whispering, yet so careless in 
his utterance that his voice in its intensity seemed almost 
to penetrate the arches overhead — not meaning to be over- 
heard, yet forgetful all at once that any other than them- 
selves stood by. “ Nay, remain then still jealous of her, 
for so I like it best. You do not even now forget that 
once I was well-loved knight of yours ? Then be so still 
and ever still the same ; oh tenderly — more tenderly than 
ever heretofore, — beloved and only idol of my soul ! ” 



CHAPTER XX. 

W ITH the new impulse of that great controlling 
joy, and no longer doubting that the affection 
that had once been his had never ceased and now again 
was openly and confessedly still all the same his own, 
Toys de Martelle flung his loving arm around her and 
drew her unresisting form close against his breast. At 
which Pere Rouflet, who all the while had remained un- 
easily watching over them, not altogether unapprehensive 
of such outbreak of newly-kindled love, felt it needful 
that he should interfere. 

“ Not that — not that ! ” he cried. “ Sir Knight, think 
of the promise that you made m.e at her coming ! Speak 
only your farewell and in better composure, and so let 
her depart, — not further leading her into unruly forgetful- 
ness of her vows.” 

But even as he spoke there came new interruption upon 
the scene ; for at that instant the Grand Duke's Jester, 
who also had been hovering near, not knowing how soon 
he too might be wanted, stepped forward and planted 
himself before Pere Rouflet, and with threatened force 
forbade his further interference. 


298 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


“Touch them not, good Priest ! ” the Jester cried ; in 
his sympathetic excitement shaking every little bell upon 
his tunic’s hem. “ It is you who have brought them to- 
gether to say farewell, — it is you who must take the blame 
of what may further happen. Think you that they can 
part forever with as cold and deliberate courtesy as you 
dispense a two-fingered blessing, when leaving a room ? 
Are they made of stone and steel, that they should go 
their several ways to death and to living tomb, with mere 
formal crossing of the palm ? Nay, you shall not inter- 
fere, Priest, so long as I have strength to stand between 
and hinder. Speak on. Sir Knight, even as you will ; see- 
ing that I am your faithful guaranty that there shall be 
no foolish cold-minded interruption ! ” 

The physical effort of the Jester for their protection pre- 
vailed ; and Pere Rouflet half paralyzed remained irreso- 
lute nor offered further resistance. But the sympathetic 
words fell upon unregarding ears. Toys and Manon 
heard them not, for already their attention was attuned to 
no other sound than the sweet music of each other’s 
voices. He sat with his wounded arm, now no longer 
conscious of single twinge of pain drawn lovingly about 
her, and she half reclining with her head resting upon his 
shoulder and the thick raven curls sweeping over his 
breast. The wrangle of Priest and Jester passed unheed- 
ed by them ; as, with lips nearly touching, they whispered 
to each other the pleasant story of their never inter- 
rupted love. They saw not the lengthened shadows of 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


299 


the great cathedral deepening into blackness, nor felt the 
rising chill of its cold gray pavement ; imagination had 
already carried them upon its magic wings far away into 
other scenes. The little street court where Toys had first 
seen her, and even then had begun to love her, — the 
woodland path where meeting her again, not altogether 
by accident upon the part of either, he had told her his 
love, — the forest tree at whose foot she had been wont to 
tune her gittern and sing those songs which always sooner 
or later were interrupted by gentle caresses, — the rambles 
among the evening shades, — all these sweet and blissful 
memories of the past now came thronging around them 
in living realization ; and so, for the moment and in that 
loving forgetfulness of the dreadful present, they were 
once more happy. 

At last however, — yet not until many minutes, — there 
came, as there must come to every dream, the awaken- 
ing. What brought it about, — whether new twinge of 
pain or distant sound creeping upon the notice of the 
ear, — little did the true cause matter, so long as it awoke 
them to a perception of the present. Now like the 
silent rolling away of fleecy summer clouds, the bright 
fancies of the serene past all vanished ; and once 
more Loys and Manon felt the full realization of the 
dread array of circumstances surrounding them. The 
cold stone arches, the grinning corbels, the deepening 
shadows, the armed men faintly seen through the distant 
porch guarding their prey from flight, — no sound of 


300 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


sympathy or word of cheer in all that terrible -despair 
and gloom ; — these were the only objects that could now 
occupy their thoughts, the only sequence of their pleas- 
ant dream. 

“A while ago,” said Loys ; and in the fast weakening 
of his frame through hunger, pain and distress of mind 
he gazed upon Manon almost with supplicating look, as 
though pleading for her aid, “ not many hours ago, it 
seemed as though I would gladly die, so little expecta- 
tion of happiness had life left for me. But now ” 

“Now, Loys?” 

“ I would still live ; for it seems as though life again 
had claims upon me. It is not too late that I should 
enjoy the coming years — could it only be that I might 
escape from here and be once more free. There is an 
old legend that the Church is charged with a curse upon 
the Martelles. So has it been indeed, for many genera- 
tions past ; and yet there should come a time at last to | 
every curse when its power must fail. Or, if the doom 
of this still lies upon me, surely I have already felt its 
power sufficiently that it should now be restrained from 
further action. Think, Manon, v/hat may yet be before 
us, if I can hence escape ! No other ties now bind me ; | 
nor are you yet fettered with more than the mere intent <1 
towards other duties. Henceforth surely we should live 
only for each other. I am truly wearied with the follies 
of the Court. Let me only become free again ; and 
in some other land I will turn student, artist, artizan or 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


301 


what you will, so that I may remain at your side until 
death.” 

Again that look of entreaty ; as though, in this sore 
strait, when mere manhood had proved so insufficient, 
her woman’s wit might suggest relief. And for the mo- 
ment, her heart aglow with his loving words, it really 
seemed to her as though she might have the power. 
Loys’ friends had all now left him, — no knight or esquire 
would come forward for his rescue. But had she not 
friends of her own whom she could control for that good 
purpose ? Lo ! in the poorer quarter of the town she 
knew where dwelt a band of fifty students who had often 
told her that they would not hesitate to die for her, if 
needful. Could not these be mustered for Loys rescue ? 
It was the hopeful suggestion of a single moment, only. 
The next instant her heart sank within her as she felt the 
bitterness of returning despair. For she remembered 
how, that very afternoon, when earliest she had learned 
about Loys peril, though not as yet knowing whither he 
had found refuge, she had chanced to linger where she 
had overheard the conversation of the students ; and she 
had heard the misadventure of Loys so fiercely canvassed, 
such withering scorn expressed, such ignominy heaped 
upon his name, his fair fame which once had been a 
study and example for noble deeds now so wildly hissed 
and hooted, and only mentioned with a sneer or curse, 
that she had turned in utter affright and sought the soli- 
tude of her own home, as the only place where the re- 


I 


302 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


vilings against her love might not dare to penetrate. 
Little hope that in the studied misconstruction of Loys 
fateful act even she could turn these men to a better 
mind, and lead them to labor in Loys defence. 

Yet would she not tell him this. Though he must 
learn how hopeless was all dependence upon herself, she 
could not let him know the reason why. And was there 
not another reason which she need not hesitate to men- 
tion, and which surely was all sufficient ? 

“ Alas ! Loys,” she said, “ why tempt me with happy 
dreams that never can be realized ? Look only upon me 
and learn the truth.” 

As once before to Pere Rouflet, so now to Loys she 
bared her wasted arm and drew his gaze upon it and 
bade him look into her face and mark there, also, the 
cruel wasting of disease. He had not noted this, before. 
The brightness of the eye and the sweet smile of the 
curved lip were there, and until now he had noted noth- 
ing else. But now at her bidding he dwelt upon the thin 
hands and the sunken cheek ; and reading there her 
doom, he groaned aloud. 

“ Do you not see and understand, dear Loys ? And 
seeing, you will not reproach me for saying nay to your 
appeal ? Remember only why I left you, and think how 
wrong for myself and you it would be for me to return. 
A few more weeks or even days, perhaps, and there will 
be no more a Manon. Already my poor strength grows 
daily weaker, and soon will altogether pass from me. 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


303 


5 Will you then grudge me, Loys, these few remaining 
I days for repentance and assurance of my peace of 
; mind ? ” 

“Ah, Manon ; if it be so, indeed, how could I ” 

“ A little longer, Loys, and all will surely be done. But 
if you would wish for comfort — for the very little I can 
hope to give — let it consist in this. No convent walls 
can ever shut out thoughts of you or prayers for your 
life’s welfare. That is no sin, indeed ; and if it were, I 
cannot give it up, and the sin must abide with me all the 
same to the very end. Dying, I shall bless you, Loys ; 
and it may be that should you escape from hence, some 
kind sister of the convent will afterwards, in memory of 
my request, seek for you and tell you that your name 
was last upon my lips.” 

“ Nay Manon, if it must be so, then will I not tarry for 
that,” he said ; and with sudden resolution he rose upon 
his feet. “ I said that a while ago I feared not death, 
and only now desired for life by reason of the newer 
happiness that my errant fancy seemed to open out be- 
fore me. What care I still for life, since once again all 
that can make it dear is vanishing from my grasp ? Or 
why should not the Church’s curse upon my name now 
once more, as so often hitherto, be fulfilled unto the 
death ? Let me not live to hear that you are gone, my 
Manon. I can well believe and trust that you will re- 
member me to the end. Rather do I now intend that 
you shall know that when my last day came, I was not 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


304 

unknightly or recreant in meeting the doom that fate has 
marked out for me.” 

“ What mean you, Loys ? ” 

For only answer, he staggered across the church to 
where the tomb ot the old crusading Knight Conrad de 
Martelle gleamed white against the darker stone of wall 
and pillar. Then reaching up, Loys grasped the votive 
sword which hung over the tomb and lifted it off from 
the rings which held it in place. As has been said, it was 
a huge, two-handed sword, which, when placed uj^on the 
wearer’s person, would reach almost from shoulder to heel. 

“ It will do at least to die with, — as a man should die,” 
Loys murmured, with difficulty drawing the rusted blade 
from its scabbard and passing his finger along the hacked 
and time dulled edge, — and a pleasant smile as of some 
inner long delayed comfort and resolution stole upon his 
face. Then slowly carrying the heavy sword upon his 
shoulder, he crossed the church again and once more 
stood before Manon. 

“What is it that I mean, Manon ?” he said. “Nay, 
take my meaning not to heart, lest you might even now 
weaken ray own resolution. For surely you must see 
that there is no escape hence for me. Is it not better, 
therefore, that I should give up my poor life like a true 
born knight, rather than as a rat caught in a cage and 
starved to death ? ” 

“ Ah, Loys ! ” she sobbed, now dimly perceiving his 
meaning. “ Try to forbear.” 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


305 

“ I, too, say that you should forbear ! ” cried Pere Rou- 
flet, again struggling to come forward, and with equally 
ready comprehension of the Knight’s intent. “ In the 

name of Holy Church, I charge ” 

‘‘ And I also charge, and in the name of honorable 
knighthood, good Priest, that now you do not interfere ! ” 
the Jester exclaimed, again standing sturdily before Pere 
Rouflet and by main force resisting his advance. “ So let 
it go on to the end ! Do you not see that my good com- 
rade there is carrying out the brave and gallant conduct 
that most abundantly can attend his taking off ? Would 
you have it happen that he should not die a soldier’s 
death, but be sped finally like a cur in cellar ambush ? ” 
Overborne by the Jester’s force and words, Pere Rou- 
flet remained in compulsory inaction, scarce daring longer 
to protest. And as once before, Loys and Manon stood 
below ; unheeding, in the conflict of their emotion, all 
else that transpired about them. The protest of Priest 
and the stern interference of Jester, — these equally now 
were lost to them. 

“ Nay, I must not forbear, my Manon,” the Knight re- 
sponded. “ Do you not see that nothing else now re- 
mains ? Only promise that you will remain here, in peace 
and quiet ; and not, with unavailing entreaty or resistance, 
fetter the little manhood that still is left to me. And you 
will forgive the w^rong I have done you ? ” 

“ There is nothing to forgive, dear Loys,” she faintly 
whispered. 


3o6 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


“There is much, — much indeed,” he said. “Yet let 
that pass. Pray to Heaven for me, that there also I may 
be forgiven. And now, one kiss for last farewell.” 

Sobbing, she put her arms about his neck, and let her 
head fall upon his shoulder ; and her tears fell thick and 
fast, as the true consciousness of his intention dawned 
still more distinctly upon her. But yet, with a certain 
wild impulse of heroism she forbore to dissuade him 
from his purpose What else indeed was there for 
him to do ? And was not his honor — now so deeply 
abased — dear also to herself ? If by one action, he could 
help redeem his wounded fame, should she now dare re- 
strain him ? 

At last he lifted her head from his shoulder, pressed a 
parting kiss upon her lips and tottered to his feet. Leav- 
ing her fainting form upon the steps, he slowly crept to- 
ward the open door, the great two-handed sword naked 
in his grasp. Behind him, at a few paces distance, the 
Jester followed, curious to mark the issue. So the two 
men advanced ; and at length the Knight stood near the 
entrance and looked forth. 

The moon was behind a cloud, and all was dark except 
where a few of the larger stars gave forth an uncertain 
light. Opposite the cathedral the houses clustered to- 
gether in black indistinguishable mass, unless where here 
and there the shop lights sent a feeble gleam across the 
street. Few passers by could now be seen ; only, at 
stated distances, the relentless men-at-arms, who, with 


UNDER THE BELLS. 


307 


naked swords in hand, silently watched the cathedral 
door, so that no one should escape unquestioned. 

For a moment the doomed man stood just within the 
entrance and gazed forth. For that moment, perhaps, his 
soul shrank within him as he saw that he was recognized 
by his enemies, and that at once every blade was pointed 
towards him, in fierce readiness to drink his blood. Then, 
with a single glance behind and his lips moving with soft 
muttering of a last prayer, he stepped forth from the pro- 
tecting porch, and the work began. A short-lived work, 
indeed ; for what could any man, weak and worn with 
wounds and hunger, do against those numbers who 
were so strong and active ? So, though as he bared his 
breast to meet the onset, he struck down the first who 
advanced upon him, it was, after all, but a feeble re- 
sistance that he could make ; — fighting with that heavy, 
unwieldy weapon, inspired by no hope of victory, and 
with the single desire that through njanly ending he 
might atone for the foul blight upon his name. 

“ And it was well and bravely done, indeed,” muttered 
the Jester to himself ; as, after gazing for a moment from 
the doorway upon the lifeless bleeding body that lay in 
the street, with that dark crowd of avengers pressing 
closely around it, he strolled leisurely inward and up the 
broad nave to where, at the choir-steps, Pere Rouflet 
knelt, supporting Manon’s senseless form. 


THE END. 


e 





PUBLICATIONS OF G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS. 

Almost an Englishman. By M. L. Scudder, Jr. 

i6mo, cloth, |i.oo. 

“ The novel is a work of real merit. * * * j^g particular aim 

leads to the discussion of political topics, but in that respect the author is as 
[much at home as in the management of his lighter sketch of love and 
.romance.” — Hartford Post. 

Ti “The love-making and the various incidents of the story are ad- 
i^mirably told. Mr. Scudder may be complimented upon having achieved a 
creditable piece of literary work.” — Boston Transcript, 

“ ‘ Almost an Englishman ’ is one of the most engaging novels of equal 
[pretensions that has come from American writers. * * * I’he work 

[charms by its simplicity and directness.” — Utica Herald, 

I “It is bright, entertaining, and refreshing, * * * qjhe story is 

intensely interesting.” — Boston Post, 

“ This handsome little volume may be a novel, but it is true encash 
to life to read like a true story. * * * The book is not only interest’”", 

but its lessons are good.” — Inter-Ocean. 

j “A very delightful book of comparison of national characteristics. 

IjA running sketch of scenes and characters marked with' some vivid word 
I painting. ” — Pittsburgh Telegraph. 

i “ Is a good specimen of an increasing class of stories which we may 
'Call international novels, the principal point lying in the sharp contrasts be- 
stween national characteristics. * * * The author has given us a capital 

presentation of a character we have read much about in the newspapers, but 
I we do not remember to have seen introduced in fiction — the American who 
ihas been cultured to the extent of inculcating a distaste for republicanism 
‘and a decided preference for European methods and habits.” — Boston 
I Traveller. 

j “ Is a novel with what we may call a political reform purpose, its special 
.j mission being to rebuke the political negligence and the want of patriotism 
i| of men whose refinement is so cosmopolitan that they feel no special pride 
lor interest in their country. * * * Scudder has managed his difh- 

ifcult task very cleverly.” — N. Y. Evening Post. 

!j; “The style of the story is graceful. * * * Economic truths n- 

receive an occasional touch which is worthy the' attention of the reader.” 
ii Boston A dvertiser. 

“The motif- — to borrow a musical term — of this work is admirabi. 

I and one that must be the key-note of the ‘Great American Novel,’ when- 
ever that shall come.” — Evening Express. 

“It is original, and it has the double merit of being an interesting 
story and conveying a good lesson.” — Hartford Times. 
g “Everyone is interesting and original, and goes to form such a good 
r groundwork that at the very outset one is assured of an entertaining 
I narrative.” — Chicago Times. 

I “ The dialogue is as brilliant as that in any novel which we have read 

I for a long time * * * The book is one to claim the attention of the 

|; reader from cover to cover.” — Alliance. 

;; “ Is written wittily and well. * * * The characters are sketched 

1 with a firm and humorous hand, the conversation is well managed, and the 
I whole effect of the novel isg^ood.” — Springfield Republican. 


Cool and Refreshing Reading for the Summer Season. 


THE GREAT FUR LAND ; or Sketches of Lift 
in the Hudson’s Bay Territory. By H. M. RobinsonI 
formerly U. S. Assistant Consul in Manitoba. With numerou!i 
Illustrations by Charles Gasche. 8vo, cloth extra, $1.75. 

A SELECTION FROM THE CONTENTS: 

A Journey by Dog-Sledge; Canoe Life; The Half- 
Breed VoYAGEUR ; The Hudson’s Bay Company ; Life I^ 
A CoMPAN\'^ Fort ; A Voyage with the Voyageurs ; Thi 
Great Fall Hunts ; T"he Fraternity of Medicine ; Thi 
Blackfeet Indians at Home ; Winter Travel ; The Fuf 
Hunter; A Winter Camp ; The Frost King; A Half- 
Breed Bull; A Wood Indian “Trade.” 

“ Mr. Robinson has admirably succeeded in hitting off the peculiai 
features of forest life, and in following his graphic sketches the reader ii 
almost made to feel the scent of the odorous woods, and the breath ol 
refreshing air from the breezy mountain-tops. * * * 'Phg narrative 

exhibits a freshness and glow of delineation, founded on a certain novelty 
of adventure, which commands the attention of the reader, and makes his 
story as attractive as romance.” — N. Y. Tribune. 

“The Messrs Putnam have published a record of travel and experience 
in the far North, which, both on the score of novelty of theme and liveli- 
ness of treatment may be called one of the most attractive volumes of the 
season. h: ♦ * Altogether, the author has given us a book, which; 

considering the nature of the information afforded, and the succinctness and 
spirit of the narrative, is captivating and unique.” — N. Y. Sun. 

“ Mr. Robinson’s book, it will readily be seen from this, is both an 
entertaining and instructive one.” — N. Y. Herald. 

“ Journeys by dog-sledge, canoe life, the appearance, manners and 
peculiarities of the half-breed population, the organization of the Hudson’s 
Bay Company, the great buffalo hunt, trading with the Indians, camp life 
and some other characteristic phases of Northwestern experience are de-; 
scribed in a graphic and detailed style, which renders the book very enter- 
taining reading.” — Boston Traveller. * 

t> 0 6 


G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 


NEW YORK. 








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